


All This and Heaven Too

by RenWen17



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, HERE is the smut, Light Angst, M/M, Mpreg, My First AO3 Post, Past Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan, annnnnnnd it’s explicit now, author doesn’t know what she’s doing, king soonyoung, only a lil though, prince seokmin, ridiculously long wedding ceremonies, some of this was inspired by an exo fic, yee eee e
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2019-11-12 07:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18006821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenWen17/pseuds/RenWen17
Summary: arranged marriage soonseok because there isn’t enough of that in this world y’all





	1. I: Seokmin

The attendants are quiet as they go about their work. A small ensemble provides gentle music as the servants dress Seokmin, and gold and brass braziers filled with glowing coals provide light.

Jaebum is tucking and braiding Seokmin’s hair into elaborate loops and curls, pulling his long dark locks into a knot at the crown of his head. The rest of his hair cascades down his back, glistening with floral scented oils, and the knot of hair at the top is secured with long gold pins, sharp enough to be weapons if need be.

Carefully, Jaebum slides an electrum and gold filigree crown over the completed product, slipping one more pin through the scrolls of the ornament. A crystal hangs from this pin, a drop of clear blue that catches the firelight in a blaze of gold.

Jinyoung and Youngjae are fastening Seokmin’s elaborate robes about his body; they were the only ones even allowed to touch these robes before they were put on Seokmin. Each layer is embroidered with beautiful patterns of gold thread, gold against blood red and pure white. Hundreds of tiny pearls and clear crystals adorn the outermost white robe, sewn into the centres of flowers and the crests of waves worked in white thread.

When he is dressed, Yugyeom comes forward to line Seokmin’s eyes faintly with kohl, and paints the slightest hint of coral pink on Seokmin’s lips.

Then they leave him to wait.

An old, old woman slips into Seokmin’s chamber, draped in blue shawls and hunched with age. She sits in front of him and leans forward, takes his hand in hers as she looks up at him with still-bright blue eyes.

“Child,” she murmurs. “I am so sorry it had to come to this.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, grandmother,” Seokmin says earnestly, covering her hand with his. The jewellery dangling from his wrists and arms clink musically at the movement. “I chose this path, after all.”

“Still, I am sorry,” the grandmother says, her face pensive. “I am so sorry that you have to be sent so far away from us… so sorry that you are the sacrifice that ends this war.”

Seokmin smiles, trying his best to put on a brave face. “Don’t worry about me, grandmother,” he says as brightly as he can muster. “Everything will be fine… I will have my few friends, and perhaps my husband won’t be all that bad…”

The grandmother smiles back at Seokmin, sadness lingering in her eyes still. “I pray that your words will be true,” she murmurs. “You have the blessing of our kingdom, child… go forth and live well.”

Jeonghan slips into the room as the grandmother presses a kiss to Seokmin’s forehead, signalling that it is finally time to go. He, too, is attired in white finery, though the inner layers of his robes are blue rather than red.

Seokmin rises from his stool and makes a deep bow to the grandmother, placing his hands and forehead on the floor, then stands and follows Jeonghan out of the room.

—

“You don’t really have to do this,” Jeonghan murmurs, slowing as they approach the towering black edifice. There are black-paved switchbacks leading up to the building, lit by dim torches. “No one will judge you for it if you turn back now. Many have.”

Seokmin looks up at the mausoleum, fear curling his gut. “I have to,” he says resolutely. “We have never needed the blessings of our ancestors more, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan nods, though he still looks unconvinced. “Then lead the way, my prince,” he says. There’s a wistfulness to his tone as he addresses Seokmin; it’s been years since he had to use such honorifics with the younger.

Their destination is the central shrine of the mausoleum, where the ashes of their founding king rest, surrounded by his sons, his consort, and his most trusted advisors. There are already a set of offerings and sticks of incense waiting for Seokmin, so that he doesn’t have to strain himself carrying anything up the slopes.

Jeonghan lingers at the entrance to the shrine, forbidden from entering while Seokmin does his duties to the ancestors. He gives Seokmin a meaningful look as the younger enters the shrine, a silent reassurance. He know better than anyone how much Seokmin hates speaking with the ancestors.

Seokmin sits on the floor, his robes billowing around him, and lights the incense sticks with a murmured charm. The sharp scent surrounds him almost immediately, and he bows down, resting his head and hands against the polished stone floor.

“Noble ancestors,” he begins. “Your son begs your blessing and love. As your blood gave me life and your flesh gave me warmth, so now I ask that your spirit may give me approval.”

The offerings subsist of a small loaf of flatbread and a well-ripened fruit; Seokmin sits up to place them on the golden tray that rests at the foot of his great king’s memorial stone.

“You have fed me and given me strength as long as I have lived in your care,” Seokmin murmurs. “Now I am to leave your embrace to fly to the arms of a husband far, far away from my ancestors’ lands. I beg that you may give me your blessing as I journey.”

He bows down again, closing his eyes. “Noble king and dear ancestors, I ask that you watch over those I leave behind. Grant them your continued love and guidance as they live, and welcome them to your honoured halls when they pass from this world. Send me to my new home with your support and approval, that my life may be one of joy and peace.”

He stays there until the incense burns out, as tradition dictates, bowed all the way down to the floor. Once the smoke dissipates, he rises and gives one final bow to the memorial stones, and backs out of the room with his head bowed and hands folded in front of him.

Jeonghan is still waiting, sitting in front of his clan founder’s memorial with his eyes closed and back straight.

“I’m finished,” Seokmin says quietly. “If you’re ready to go, then we can.”

Jeonghan rises in a rustle of silk and bows to the memorial. “Then let’s go home, Seokmin. For one last night.”

Seokmin nods, fixing his gaze on the exit as they make their way through the mausoleum. “One last night,” he repeats, somewhat solemnly.

Jeonghan’s hand finds its way into Seokmin’s on the walk back, although he isn’t supposed to touch him until he is married. Seokmin squeezes his hand anyway, glad for the modicum of comfort it offers before his last night. The sun is nearly set, dyeing the world gold and pink.

The Last Night is a tradition that goes back to the founding king, and Seokmin does not look forward to his own.

When the attendants sweep Seokmin away, his stomach flips nervously. Jeonghan’s hand slips easily from Seokmin’s fingers, and he offers a small smile as the younger is whisked into his bedchamber.

There’s a veritable crowd of attendants in Seokmin’s chamber, dressed in clean white linen garments and wearing veils that shield their faces from Seokmin’s eyes.

Innumerable sets of hands paw at his clothes, undoing sashes and pins and sliding the robes from his body in rustling silken pools. Someone releases his hair from its elaborate set of pins, and it all cascades down his back in a dark river. Seokmin closes his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, the hands and fingers running up and down his skin and stripping him bare.

They strip him down until he’s completely naked and push him back into the crystal tub that’s been set out near his bed, heaping white rose blossoms around his body. Their hands still run over his skin, comb through his hair, and Seokmin represses a shudder as one hand skims feather-light over his torso, dangerously close to his heart.

Steaming water, nearly boiling, is poured into the tub, smelling of flowers and spices. Seokmin hisses at the heat, and a stream of cold water drizzles over his torso and legs to lend him relief as the hot water rises.

Maneuvering around the roses that fill the tub, the hands scrub Seokmin clean for the second time that day, rubbing scented oils deep into his skin and creating mountains of sudsy foam to smooth over his shoulders and arms. Three people are combing cleansing oils through the long strands of his hair, drizzling warm water over his head to wash out the excess.

He isn’t even allowed to step out of the bath by himself; once the attendants have deemed him sufficiently cleaned, they lift him out of the basin and onto a heap of pillows draped in towels, and gently rub him dry. Wandering hands skim over his chest, his thighs. One brave hand pinches his rear as its owner rubs that part of him dry, and Seokmin squeaks quietly.

Then, the fire.

A flickering torch is brought forward, and one of the attendants murmurs a charm to scoop a piece of fire out of the larger flame. They divide the fire among their companions until each one holds a flame barely larger than Seokmin’s littlest fingernail, and they unwrap Seokmin from the heap of towels to make him stand.

Fire represents life, Seokmin recalls as the attendants step forward, screwing his eyes shut. He forces his breathing to remain steady — this is the most important part of the Last Night. The fire they hold will complete the cleansing ritual and be symbolic of the life he is to bring into this world with his future husband, and hopefully of a long life for the pair as well. It would be incredibly disrespectful for him to scream the instant the fire comes near.

The first flame passes over Seokmin’s shoulders in a blaze of heat and a whisper of pain, barely there.

The next flame is ever so slightly worse, and so again with the next one, until each fire passing over Seokmin’s skin feels as though his whole body has been set aflame. Fire touches every part of his body, from his toes to his head, not harming him — but it hurts, it hurts.

Finally, a jug of blessedly cool water is slowly poured over him, quenching the flame and bringing sweet relief. Seokmin lets out a long exhale, his tense body relaxing, and one of the attendants follows the water’s path with a soft, cool towel to dry him off.

They dress him in soft white linen, a loose set of drawstring pants and an equally loose tunic with sleeves that come to his elbows, and all but float him to the bed, their hands still everywhere on his body. More roses are heaped about him once he’s laid out on the enormous bed, white and yellow and a soft pink, just colourful enough to offset the feeling that he’s being laid on his funeral bier. They drape endless garlands of the soft blooms over every piece of furniture in the room and over him, giving him a necklace and crown of roses.

Finally, as the crowd exits, one last attendant scatters a trail of white petals from his bed to the door of his chamber, the last path he will walk while this palace is his home. The door closes silently, and with that, Seokmin’s Last Night is complete. The robes he wore to bid farewell to his ancestors will be burnt in a ceremonial fire as soon as the gate closes behind him, destroying his last connection to his homeland.

Maybe it was the ritual, or just the late hour; for whatever reason, Seokmin dozes off in minutes. Dawn comes all too soon.

Before he knows it, Seokmin is being pulled out of his bed and led, still in his simple white linen and garlands, out of the castle, following the path of white petals laid the previous night. The sun is just barely cresting over the eastern mountains as he reaches the gate and registers who it is leading him; Jeonghan gives him a tired smile and a gentle squeeze to his hand. The stone-paved floors are cold against Seokmin’s feet, almost cold enough to burn.

The king is waiting at the end of the path, dressed in an elaborate golden robe. He brings Seokmin in for a hug, murmuring a blessing that Seokmin’s sleepy ears can’t comprehend, and then guides him to the waiting carriage. Jeonghan climbs in after him, and the carriage door closes with finality. Seokmin is on his way.

—

Jeonghan is one of only three people from his homeland who are allowed to accompany Seokmin. The other two are a tall, somewhat clumsy High Mage and a young military commander; both will serve as his guard. The mage carries a long, fluffy animal of some sort with him, presumably his familiar.

Seokmin is not the first bride offered in treaty, not the first to be sent as a peace-offering to end a war. However, it is a miracle that the people his future husband belongs to have accepted him; they are notoriously suspicious of Seokmin’s kingdom, and of the magic that they know.

They have their own magics, of course, but theirs are strange and other-ish compared to the rigorous training and carefully crafted sigils and charms expected of High Mages. Seokmin shudders at the thought — the bedtime stories say that his future husband’s people treat with demons and fey creatures to gain their power.

Of course, those are just bedtime stories told to scare children, most likely propaganda crafted in the height of the war. Those were dark, bloody times for everyone.

Seokmin sighs, brushing the curtain aside just slightly to look out the window. Will his fiancé and his new people treat him well, or are the stories of savage kings and raging clans true?

Across the carriage, Jeonghan has curled up on his side to sleep; Seokmin’s eyes droop just looking at him. Slowly, he lies down as well; he’ll allow himself a short nap. The road will be very long, after all — their journey will take up to two weeks. Seokmin prays that the road is easy, not least since his kingdom had promised his future husband that Seokmin would arrive no later than the summer solstice, and that day is approaching fast.


	2. II: Soonyoung

Soonyoung wakes to the quiet rustle of the camp and gentle sunlight filtering in through the canvas walls of his tent. He stretches lazily, his eyes closed, and is peaceful for a whole minute.

 

Then his peaceful dream comes crashing down around his ears as he’s reminded of the importance of the next few days. Groaning, Soonyoung burrows deeper into his fur blanket, going so far as to pull it over his head as he allows himself a moment of childishness.

 

Within the next few days, his fiancé will arrive. Then it will be a mess of wedding preparations and ceremonies from before the Clans were even founded, tiring and long ceremonies that will take days to complete properly.

 

Bracing himself, Soonyoung tosses aside his blanket and clambers out of bed; it is time for him to be a king, not a child.

 

He dresses simply, tying a cheerful red sash around his waist to secure his pale blue overcoat, and shoves his feet into leather boots. His topknot is secured with a black ribbon, and he ties a gold-embroidered band of red linen around his forehead — the replacement for his crown, when he cannot be bothered with the elaborate gold creation.

 

Finally, Soonyoung tucks a bluestone amulet into an inner pocket — his king’s seal, which must never be allowed to leave his side. He makes a slight bow to the altar in the corner of his tent, placing his hand over where the seal rests just over his heart. By the grace of the gods, he will keep this token of kingship for a long time.

 

Jisoo is waiting for him when he exits the tent, sitting by the cook fire with his legs folded and a peaceful demeanour, eyes closed. Soonyoung joins him, sneaking glances at his companion every so often as he waits.

 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Jisoo says at length, glancing sideways at Soonyoung with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you rest well last night?”

 

Soonyoung gives a noncommittal grunt. In fact, he worried himself into a near frenzy over whether or not his fiancé would even tolerate him, but Jisoo doesn’t need to know that. “Well enough. Yourself?”

 

Jisoo stretches, a contemplative expression on his face. “As well as could be expected. The Plains are full of energy, and it makes it difficult to rest for those of us attuned to the world’s flow.”

 

That, Soonyoung can agree with. The Plains are a sacred site for the Clans, said to be the place where their gods first spoke to man, and they are rife with the residual energy of the encounter. No matter if they believe in the gods or not, anyone can feel the difference in the air when they cross the border of the Plains.

 

Soonyoung reaches out to clasp Jisoo’s shoulder, smiling. “Just a few days more, friend. Will you be able to hold out that long?”

 

Jisoo laughs indulgently, reaching up to grasp Soonyoung’s wrist. “My king,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “My king, I spent five years in these Plains when I was learning my craft. I can live with another few days — in fact, given another day or two, I’m sure I will feel perfectly at home.”

 

Soonyoung easily joins in his laughter, only slightly interrupted by the arrival of their morning meal.

 

Everyone in the camp is setting up for the ceremonies, though most of it is already done. At the bank of the river they set up camp next to, Jungkook and Chanyeol are pounding long sticks of ink into a fine dust, and the whole camp thrums in time with their rhythm.

 

Soonyoung’s blood thunders in his ears in time with the pounding — something in the air is different.

 

He hears them before he sees them; three carriages in the Imperial style, each drawn by two white horses and flying a white flag rimmed with red and gold. His fiancé is here.

 

Jisoo stands up to position himself next to Soonyoung, his eyes large and unblinking. “The air has shifted,” he says quietly. “The earth acknowledges his coming.” He places a hand on Soonyoung’s shoulder, turning his dark gaze on the younger. “For now, you should remain in your tent. I will come and tell you when your fiancé is situated.”

 

Soonyoung nods, his gut churning. From now until the culmination of the ceremonies, he will not be permitted to step out of his tent, for fear of seeing his fiancé before the appointed time. “I trust you,” he says simply, and retires to his tent.

 

His tent is decked out as befits his station; it has three rooms separated by curtains of purple and saffron silk, and the canvas floor is covered with rich pelts and rugs. In preparation for his upcoming marriage, the poles and walls of the tent have been draped in garlands of flowers and paper lanterns, casting the whole tent in a warm reddish glow.

 

Soonyoung kneels in front of his altar, bending down until his forehead touches the floor. _Merciful gods, grant longevity and joy to this union,_ he prays silently. _Grant that my kingdom and spirit alike may prosper by this marriage._

 

There is nothing to do after that but wait. Jisoo comes in some minutes later to tell him that his fiancé is settled, but after that, he must wait until dawn for the ceremonies to begin. Outside the tent, his whole retinue is scrambling madly to prepare, rustling and shouting to each other.

 

—

 

Jisoo wakes Soonyoung before the grey predawn, leading him out of the tent and to the banks of the river. A priest and a High Speaker are waiting, knee-deep in the freezing water and decked out in full regalia, and on the bank, two other indistinct figures sit.

 

“King Soonyoung, given the name Hoshi by the gods, son of the stars and the earth,” the speaker greets from beneath their ritual veil, and Soonyoung startles at the sound of the familiar voice — the voice of his dearest childhood friend, Wonwoo. “Step forward.”

 

There’s nowhere to go but the river, so Soonyoung braces himself and splashes in, letting out a strained hiss at the cold. Wonwoo guides him deeper until he stands waist-deep.

 

“You now enter another state of being, our Hoshi,” the priest declares. His eyes are a murky silver and hazed over as if blind, but his gaze is sharp and focused on Soonyoung. “King and friend and brother, you seek to bind yourself to another as their husband.”

 

The speaker — Wonwoo, gods, Soonyoung will never get used to that — gestures to the riverbank. “Come and prepare our Hoshi for his Speaking.”

 

Jisoo sloshes into the river and carefully undoes the tie of Soonyoung’s sleep robe, slipping the garment off of his shoulders. The robe is discarded, leaving Soonyoung naked.

 

One of the other two figures step into the river, and Soonyoung shivers as fingers dipped in cold liquid trail down his back.

 

It’s Namjoon, their rune-speaker; he’s drawing intricate runes over Soonyoung’s body with the ink Jungkook and Chanyeol were preparing the previous day. His expression is focused as he dips his fingers in the bowl of ink and traces them carefully over Soonyoung’s bare skin, swirling delicate patterns onto his body, and he murmurs the names and meanings of the runes as he traces them over Soonyoung’s body.

 

“The conduit between the gods and man, the world and our spirits, flows like this river,” the priest says as Namjoon steps away from Soonyoung. “So must your connection with your husband. You must open yourself entirely to him, allowing no secrets or resentment to block the flow of your bond.”

 

Jisoo scoops water into his hands and pours it over Soonyoung’s back, making the ink run and swirl into the rushing river. “Open yourself, and any anger or mistrust will flow away like water,” he murmurs.

 

Soonyoung closes his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing.

 

“Hoshi, king of our clans, son of the stars and the earth, listen,” Wonwoo commands. More water is poured over Soonyoung, streams down his body, and splashes back into the river in a quiet symphony. “Listen.”

 

The wind stirs Soonyoung’s hair, raises goosebumps on his arms and shoulders, and he can hear it rustling through the grass mere feet away. Jisoo and Namjoon and the last person — Hoseok, Soonyoung thinks — continue to pour water over Soonyoung, lifting it out of the river with cupped hands and letting it wash over him and back into the river.

 

The priest steps forward and places his hand on Soonyoung’s forehead, fixing him with that odd silver gaze. “Child of the stars, may your marriage bring joy, prosperity, and love to the halls of all the people of your clans, most especially yourself,” he murmurs. “Open yourself, that this may come to pass.”

 

Arms wrap around Soonyoung and lower him completely into the water, just as the sun peeks over the horizon and the light turns from grey to gold. He remains there, calm as can be, for what could be thirty seconds, ten minutes, an hour.

 

When he’s pulled out of the water, Soonyoung is wrapped in a waiting blanket and carried back to his tent by Hoseok, who sets him down gently and gives him a crooked smile. “Blessings be on your marriage,” he murmurs, and vanishes, the tent flap swishing behind him.

 

The ink Namjoon painted over Soonyoung’s body has all washed away in the river, leaving his skin blank and soft. He shivers, tucking the blanket closer, and clambers into his bed, praying for a bit of residual warmth from the night.

 

He wakes to the sound of bells ringing, bright and clear, and sunlight coming in through the walls of his tent. Someone is singing — Soonyoung recognizes Jihoon’s voice. The Cantor lifts his voice, pure and piping, singing a traditional marriage blessing in Old Maraein.

 

Three people enter Soonyoung’s tent as the song crescendos, carrying wooden chests bound with silver. They bow deeply and set the chests down, and Soonyoung climbs out of his bed to allow them access to him.

 

Hakyeon is the first to open his chest, pulling out a pristine white under-robe made of something light and clingy, which he gently slips Soonyoung into. Soonyoung is allowed to put on his own smallclothes, but that is all the effort he’s allowed to put into his wardrobe.

 

Hongbin and Jaehwan help Hakyeon dress Soonyoung, swathing him in yards of silk in red, gold, and deep green, and Jaehwan brushes out Soonyoung’s hair with an ivory comb, letting it fall in a loose, dark curtain down his back. Hongbin slips a gold circlet over Soonyoung’s brow, and they lead him out of the tent, barefoot.

 

Jisoo is waiting, dressed in ceremonial Speaker’s robes. Countless tiny beads clatter and jingle against each other whenever he moves, and his head is bare. He bows to Soonyoung, offering his hand for the younger to take.

 

“I am to present you to your husband,” he murmurs. “Try not to faint.”

 

Soonyoung is about to ask why when Jisoo leads him to the centre of the camp, and all words promptly fly out of his head.

 

His fiancé is waiting, garbed in pure white and faint sky blue robes that make his tan skin glow, with a crown of flowers on his head and bare toes peeking out from under his robes. His hair is loose as well and falling over his shoulders, silky and wavy and shining with gold highlights in the morning sun.

 

And gods above, he is beautiful beyond words, even if Soonyoung weren’t struck dumb and gaping like a landed fish.

 

He gets a bony elbow in the ribs for his goggling, and a snigger from Jisoo.

 

A tall, elegant man stands next to Soonyoung’s husband-to-be, wearing rich navy blue and gold. He must be the representative for the other’s family, seeing as no one from his kingdom could come to the ceremonies.

 

“I present King Soonyoung of the Kwon-Aerien Clan, named Hoshi by the gods,” Jisoo announces, leading Soonyoung a step further forward. “He brings to this marriage his crown and lands to share with his bride, and his devotion and loyalty forever.”

 

The navy-clad man leads his companion forward another step, and his robes glisten with silver as he moves. “I present Lee Seokmin, prince of the Teluthion Empire,” he replies grandly. “He brings the promise of peace, and offers comfort and devotion for as long as the Sun still rises.”

 

Jisoo and Seokmin’s companion exchange gifts — each one handcrafted by the one they’re presenting. Soonyoung spent two months shaping the diamond in the silver circlet he’s giving to Seokmin as a marriage gift, now nestled in a velvet-lined silver chest.

 

Jisoo nods and hands the gift from Seokmin off to Hoseok, still safe in its mother-of-pearl box. “We of the Clans accept Seokmin into our home,” he states. “Jeonghan, we gladly receive your charge as our king’s bride.”

 

The navy-clad man bows deeply, hands folded in front of him, and smiles when he straightens up. “May blessings be on their marriage,” he says.

 

“Blessings be on their marriage,” Jisoo replies.

 

Jihoon raises his voice again, a wild and joyful song, and the bells begin ringing loudly. Jeonghan and Jisoo each take one end of a red silken ribbon and lead the couple forward, tying them together by looping the ribbon over and around and under their joined hands.

 

“May this first binding be the firm foundation on which your marriage is built,” Jisoo says solemnly, resting his hand on top of Seokmin and Soonyoung’s. “You are joined by this ribbon and your troth, pledging your souls to each other for as long as they shall exist.”

 

Soonyoung’s eyes are fixed on Seokmin, a faint flush decorating his cheeks as he looks at his fiancé. The younger is also blushing, his gaze fixed on the ground — or perhaps the ribbon that ties them together.

 

“Blessings be on your marriage.”

 

The song crescendos and dies, and Jihoon folds his legs and sits, closing his eyes. The first ceremony is over, and they are bonded by faith.

 

Jeonghan flings a veil over Seokmin’s head, obscuring him from Soonyoung’s vision, and he and Jisoo untie the ribbon. Jeonghan leads Seokmin away as Soonyoung bows his head, allowing Jisoo to drape a veil over him too.

 

“Doing all right?” Jisoo asks quietly, reaching up under the veil to cup Soonyoung’s cheek in his hand.

 

“He’s beautiful, Jisoo,” Soonyoung whispers, stunned. The warmth of Seokmin’s hand still clings to his, a ghost of a warm smile and shy blush. “Gods, he is beautiful.”

 

Jisoo smiles, dropping his hand. “He certainly is, my king. Let’s get back to your tent; you have another ceremony to prepare for.”


	3. III: Seokmin

Jeonghan fixes the veil onto Seokmin’s head with the silver circlet Soonyoung has presented him with and steps back to observe him critically. “Well, he certainly spares no expense for you,” he says. “That’s a moon diamond if I ever saw one, and bigger than any I’ve seen, too.”

 

Seokmin touches the circlet self-consciously. “Really?” The circlet is lighter than he’d expected it to be, especially with the size of the diamond. The gem is shaped into a four-pointed star, with dozens of facets catching the torchlight and throwing glimmering spots of colour onto the walls of his tent.

 

“Really,” Jeonghan says, smiling. “Come here, we have to get you ready for the next ceremony.” He removes the circlet and tosses Seokmin’s veil aside, white fabric shimmering and undulating in the air.

 

Someone clears their throat, and Seokmin looks up and meets eyes with a tall, lanky young man dressed in jet black and blood red.

 

“Blessings be on your marriage,” the man says politely, bowing at the waist. “My name is Minghao, of the Xu-Meryle clan. I’m to be part of your personal staff when the ceremonies are completed — I was sent to assist Lord Jeonghan in preparing you for the upcoming ceremonies.” His hair is fluffy and light brown, his bangs a cloud around his face, and his eyes are a far-away lavender colour. “There’s a box of my supplies outside. May I have permission to use it?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Seokmin stammers. “Do whatever you need to.”

 

Minghao returns with a small chest bound with gold; from it he removes a simple blue garment and a palette of tiny round discs of colour.

 

“Lord Jeonghan, please garb Seokmin in this robe,” he says formally, bowing to Jeonghan and presenting the garment. “It is a gift from the Kwon-Aerien Clan for their new son and brother.”

 

Jeonghan strips Seokmin of his white robes and slides the blue silk over his shoulders. It shimmers with faint patterns in the light, the same colour as the background fabric.

 

Minghao next lifts a bowl of water, a brush, and his palette; he bows to Seokmin before approaching and dips his brush in the water, then skims it gently over one of the discs and begins to paint an elaborate pattern onto Seokmin’s very skin.

 

When he is finished painting, the pattern extends over Seokmin’s nose and forehead and curves around his cheekbones. Minghao smiles as he sets his palette aside, and turns to Jeonghan. “My Lord. Will you veil Seokmin, that no unkind eyes may see him?” He offers a pale, pale blue veil, a little more opaque than the white one Seokmin had been given at the previous ceremony.

 

Jeonghan pulls the veil over Seokmin’s head softly, leaving his hair entirely unstyled.

 

“I crown you,” Minghao says next, picking up the circlet, “with the gift you have received from your faithful husband. May its circle stand as a symbol of the eternity your bond will last, and the gemstone for the strength of your bond.”

 

He settles the crown on Seokmin’s head, and Seokmin swears that the earth beneath his bare feet rumbles in approval.

 

“The earth has blessed your union,” Minghao says gently. “Blessings are on your marriage.”

 

He vanishes, and Jeonghan takes Seokmin’s hand to lead him out of the tent. “It’s time for your next ceremony,” he murmurs.

 

This ceremony takes place a little ways away from the camp, where a cloth canopy of sorts has been set up. Soonyoung sits underneath the canopy, veiled with a cloth-of-gold curtain of gauze over his face and dressed in a simple white robe, and seated on one of two small golden thrones.

 

Seokmin steps forward, and a man in complex earthy green robes takes his hand from Jeonghan and leads him to the other throne.

 

Soonyoung stands from his throne and bows, placing his forehead on the ground at Seokmin’s bare feet with his veil pooling around his head. “My eternity,” he greets. “Bless me with your love and loyalty.” He sits back on his haunches, accepting a golden bowl and pure white towel from a nearby robed man.

 

“I will cleanse your feet of the dust they have gathered from your journey,” Soonyoung says, reaching forward, and Seokmin obliges him by sticking out his left foot. The bowl is filled with water, with petals of a flower Seokmin doesn’t recognize floating on the surface.

 

Soonyoung washes Seokmin’s feet gently, then dries them with the white towel and bends down to kiss each foot. “May your blood mingle with ours; our names and our blood are written in the earth with the spirits and the gods.”

 

Before Seokmin can quite process those words, Soonyoung has accepted a glinting silver knife and cut a sharp gash in the arch of Seokmin’s right foot.

 

He cries out in pain, his fists tightening on the armrests of his gilded throne, and Jeonghan lurches forward, only to be held back by a few others.

 

A few drops of blood from Seokmin’s foot are collected in a smaller gold bowl, and Soonyoung sets it aside, dipping Seokmin’s foot in the bowl of water again.

 

Seokmin holds back tears as Soonyoung bathes the injury, his hands still as gentle as they had always been. “I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung whispers, quiet enough that Seokmin thinks he’s imagined it.

 

The cut stops bleeding quickly, to Seokmin’s surprise, and Soonyoung covers his feet in a fragrant cream, massaging it into his skin with tender hands.

 

“Now you do the same for him,” the robed man whispers in Seokmin’s ear. Shakily, Seokmin stands from his throne and kneels in front of Soonyoung, unable to speak.

 

He bathes Soonyoung’s feet almost mechanically, kisses them gently, and, faltering, makes a tiny cut in the same place Soonyoung had cut him, catching the blood in the bowl that holds his own blood.

 

Soonyoung stands too, wrapping his hand around Seokmin’s where he holds the bowl in trembling hands. Seokmin can just barely see his eyes through the blue and gold veils that cover their faces, and Soonyoung looks apologetic and… almost sad. The bracelet Seokmin crafted for him as a marriage gift glimmers from under the sleeve of his robe.

 

“May the gods bless our union and mingling of blood,” Soonyoung murmurs, and tips the bowl so that their blood pours into the sandy river shore.

 

To Seokmin’s utter surprise, the earth swallows the blood immediately, leaving no trace, and Soonyoung smiles below his veil — Seokmin can see it in the twinkling of his eyes.

 

Soonyoung is the one to lead Seokmin back to his tent, holding his hand ever so gently. “Until tonight,” he whispers, and lifts his veil just enough to kiss the palm of Seokmin’s hand. “My eternity… my Seokmin.”

 

There are four more public ceremonies. Seokmin falls onto his bed, pressing his hand to his racing heart. Four more ceremonies, and then… the consummation.

 

—

 

Night falls quickly, and Minghao appears to touch up the pattern he’s painted on Seokmin’s face and dress him in smoky lavender and pale blue robes, lined with white. “Is your foot hurting you terribly?” he asks gently, casting his gaze down slightly.

 

Seokmin shakes his head under his light blue veil, truthfully denying the question. It’s not too bad, he supposes. He’s had worse when he was ill in the palace.

 

He still limps slightly as Minghao and Jeonghan lead him away.

 

For this ceremony, he’s led to the riverbank again, where Soonyoung is waiting, holding a brightly burning torch. The king is dressed in the same colours as Seokmin for the first time, except for the golden veil.

 

“Come,” Soonyoung murmurs, extending his hand. Seokmin takes it tentatively, and Soonyoung leads him to where the river laps gently at the shore.

 

“Hoshi of the Kwon-Aerien Clan, and Seokmin, honoured seventh son of the empire,” a deep, resonant voice greets them from somewhere offshore. “Step forward, and accept this bond.”

 

Soonyoung leads Seokmin forward, holding his torch high so that they can see where they’re going. They wade through the cold water until they’re up to their waists, and Soonyoung makes them halt.

 

There’s another man swathed in elaborate robes, wearing an undyed creamy veil over his face and a hooded cloak, standing waist-deep in the water with them. He extends his hand toward Seokmin, palm up, and waits.

 

Soonyoung nudges Seokmin forward gently. “Go,” he murmurs. “The Speaker won’t hurt you.”

 

So Seokmin takes the man’s hand, and allows himself to be pulled away from Soonyoung.

 

“Your blood has been spilled on the soil of the Plains, and the earth has accepted it,” the speaker murmurs. “Now you must pledge yourself to our king in loyalty and love.”

 

“I will,” Seokmin says instinctually, grasping the speaker’s hand a little tighter. Someone is singing from deeper in the river, a wordless song that makes the hair on the back of Seokmin’s neck stand on end.

 

“Then follow me,” the speaker says. He leads Seokmin a few steps further into the river, walking away from Soonyoung and his bright torch, standing with his robes flowing about him in the current.

 

Then a strong pair of hands lifts Seokmin, and his feet touch the solid wood of a boat’s deck.

 

The speaker wades back to Soonyoung, and speaks with him for a moment.

 

Soonyoung’s “I will” rings through the air, firm and bright in the calm of the rushing river.

 

The torch is extinguished, and Soonyoung’s hand slides into Seokmin’s as he’s boosted onto the boat with him.

 

“They have pledged their lives to each other, promising love and faithfulness all the days of their lives,” the speaker booms. “May this promise last for ever and ever.”

 

Torches all over the boat flare to life with a single word, and Seokmin gasps, clutching Soonyoung’s hand. He receives a comforting squeeze in return, the king’s soft hand wrapping tight around Seokmin’s.

 

Jeonghan and Soonyoung’s representative stand on a raised deck, where the brightest torches are. Soonyoung leads Seokmin there, climbing the stairs so that everyone else on the boat can see them.

 

“The gods named you Hoshi when you came of age,” Soonyoung’s representative says. “Now kneel, that your bridegroom may receive the same honour as your consort and life’s companion.”

 

Four more people ascend the stairs; one with silvery, hazy eyes and dressed in midnight blue and startling violet and silver, another in simple white robes lined with gold, one wearing grey robes and holding a simple wooden bowl, and the fourth is the speaker who had led them to the boat.

 

“High priest,” Jeonghan greets, bowing. “Cantor, rune-speaker, High Speaker. May you grant the blessings of the gods to my charge and his marriage.” His voice falters toward the end, his eyes cutting to Seokmin.

 

The white-robed man begins to sing, something clear and piping, as the other three step forward.

 

The high priest kneels in front of Seokmin, fixing his silvery gaze on Seokmin’s face with alarming sharpness in his murky eyes. “Lee Seokmin, seventh son of the empire,” he murmurs. “The spirits of our land are now to claim you as one of our own. Do you object?”

 

Seokmin shakes his head, trying desperately to wrench his gaze away from the priest’s hypnotic eyes. It feels like the man can see straight through his veil, although his eyes are hazy as if blind.

 

“You are dutiful,” the priest says, and stands. “Rune-speaker Namjoon; he is ready.”

 

The one holding the bowl steps forward once more, and someone undoes the sash that holds Seokmin’s robes, sliding the fabric off his shoulders so that he is naked in front of everyone. Seokmin lets out a squeak of fright, instinctually moving his hands to cover his groin in embarrassment; the shimmering silk pools around his knees, but he feels as though he would be crossing a line if he picked them up to preserve his modesty.

 

The rune-speaker crouches, dipping his fingers in the bowl and pausing, his fingers coated in ink, as he observes Seokmin. “You are dutiful, kind, and modest,” he murmurs, swirling his fingers in the bowl of blood-red ink. “A man of many virtues.”

 

He reaches out and paints a huge symbol on Seokmin’s chest, right over his breastbone, and then covers his arms, thighs, and torso in complex symbols.

 

“What does it mean?” Seokmin asks in a whisper as the rune-speaker steps away, replaced by the other veiled speaker.

 

“Dokyeom,” the speaker announces. “Virtuous and skilled in all things.” He raises Seokmin to his feet, presenting him — still naked — to the other people standing on the deck of their craft. “His divine name is Dokyeom, given by the gods, child of the sun, the moon, and the waters of life.”

 

The speaker joins Seokmin and Soonyoung’s hands, and the rune-speaker steps forward once more, drawing a symbol on their joined hands so that each hand bears one half.

 

“So he is bound with his bridegroom, Hoshi, child of the stars and the earth,” the speaker declares. Soonyoung’s representative steps forward and disrobes his king, leaving both of them stark naked except for the veils that still cover their faces. The bracelet he’d made still glints from Soonyoung’s wrist, flickering in the torchlight.

 

And before he knows it, Seokmin is being shoved overboard into the freezing river, his hand still clasped in Soonyoung’s.

 

Red ink bleeds away in the river as their veils swirl and billow around them, allowing Seokmin brief glimpses of his fiancé’s face one moment and entirely obscuring his vision the next. His foot stings horribly in the water, although he doesn’t know if it’s bleeding or not in the storm of red ink.

 

They’re pulled out of the water, and Seokmin is wrapped in a huge, warm blanket and bundled away, not allowed another glimpse of Soonyoung as Jeonghan fusses over him, peeling the soaking veil away from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speaking of this consummation biz do y'all want smut or nah


	4. IV: Soonyoung

Soonyoung spends the night on the ship, while Seokmin is taken away to sleep on land. Jisoo fusses appropriately, hanging his veil out to dry and making sure Soonyoung keeps his feet in a tub of hot water for half an hour, wrapped in a blanket and sipping from a cup of hot wine.

 

“Three more to go,” Soonyoung mumbles dazedly. The cold water was a shock to him, despite knowing it was coming — and knowing that his cut foot would heal in the river. He wonders if Seokmin’s foot still pains him.

 

Jisoo tuts quietly, still working to towel all the water out of Soonyoung’s hair. “Yes, and then you have your dual coronation and presentation to the clans individually, and then you’ll be being pestered for an heir before you know it.”

 

Soonyoung sighs, taking a long gulp of his wine. The drink burns as it slides down his throat, warming his stomach. “Do you think my people will be proud of me?” he asks hesitantly. “Do you think they resent my taking a foreigner as my consort?”

 

Jisoo sets the towel aside and begins to comb through Soonyoung’s tangled locks. “My King,” he says softly, “they are already proud of you. Was it not you who prevented the clans from dissolving in the aftermath of the Midnight Sun? Was it not you who made peace with the empire after a hundred years of conflict, and you not even crowned yet? You are already king in their hearts, Soonyoung, and nothing will change that, especially not your choice of consort.”

 

Soonyoung hangs his head, clutching his cup a little tighter. “I suppose,” he murmurs. “I worry sometimes… I have dreams.”

 

“I know, Your Majesty,” Jisoo says. “I know.” He ties Soonyoung’s hair back in a loose braid, his gentle fingers raking over his scalp. “We all dream of horrors sometimes.”

 

He escorts Soonyoung to his bed, a low frame heaped with pelts and thick blankets. “Sleep well, my king, and dream of peace. You have saved the clans time and time again; rest easy.”

 

Soonyoung dreams of Seokmin, his tan skin and long dark hair shining in golden sunlight, a smile on his face and a crown of lush flowers on his head as he pulls Soonyoung along, laughing like there is nothing wrong with the world.

 

He wakes to an empty bed, and barely has time to be disappointed before triumphant horns start sounding from the ship.

 

Overnight, they have sailed up the river to the Lake that is the source of every stream and river that flows through the Plains. This is where the final three ceremonies will take place, and where most of the clans are gathered to witness the marriage of their king.

 

It is where kings have been married and consummated their bonds for centuries on end, and it is where Soonyoung will follow in their footsteps.

 

“Kwon Soonyoung!” a loud voice shouts as soon as he steps off the boat, and Soonyoung finds himself stumbling back into the shallows of the river with an armful of affectionate chubby-cheeked boy.

 

“Good morning to you too, Seungkwan,” he chuckles, ruffling the boy’s short black hair. “What happened to your hair?”

 

Seungkwan draws back with a pout. “What, you don’t like it?” he teases. “It, ah, there was a sickness.” He plucks nervously at the silky strands, frowning. “I… it got matted while I was ill and confined to bed. Mother had to cut it all off.” He musters a little chuckle. “Sojeong cried.”

 

Soonyoung embraces his friend again, pulling him close. “You look fine,” he murmurs. “I’m glad to see you here.”

 

“As if I could miss your wedding!” Seungkwan cries indignantly as they make for the camp by the lakeshore. “What, I’ve only known you since we were barely walking and you expect me to miss this, of all things?”

 

Soonyoung elbows him in the side, grinning. “Right, how could I forget? I’ve been cursed by your presence since I was one and a half.”

 

Seungkwan slugs him in the arm and brushes aside the door flap of the grandest tent on the shore. “Here’s your tent,” he says softly, solemnly. “All the clans in attendance sent a representative to set it up for you, to welcome you and your husband into the clans.”

 

Soonyoung steps into a warm cave of fabric, airy from the high roofs of canvas and glowing with paper lanterns, draped with flowers and lanterns on every surface.

 

This is clearly one of many rooms — it has cushions on the floor and a low table, with a low throne at its end, and little else save for the chests and rugs strewn through the room.

 

“You have a private sitting area, a bath chamber, and a bedroom as well,” Seungkwan says, stepping in behind Soonyoung. “I was privileged to help furnish your bedchamber.”

 

Soonyoung can see touches of Seungkwan here and there — the bright cluster of flowers on the low table, the brasswork lantern that hangs from the central post and illuminates the whole area.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I love it.”

 

Seungkwan harrumphs weakly, putting his hands on his hips. “Save the sentimentality for your husband,” he mutters. “I didn’t do that much.”

 

He points to a delicately crafted gold vase that stands on a low chest. “That’s a gift from one of your fiancé’s retinue,” he says. “He said it’s a tradition for the family of the bride in their country to give their child’s new husband a household item — anything from a cup to a duck.”

 

Soonyoung kneels to examine the vase as Seungkwan continues, transfixed. “As your husband’s family can’t exactly be here — Jeonghan gave me that and told me to make sure you got it.”

 

“I’m honoured,” Soonyoung whispers.

 

“Your next ceremony won’t be held until dusk,” Seungkwan says, businesslike all of a sudden, and Soonyoung remembers that his young friend had grown up all too quickly when his father died, becoming in charge of most of his clan’s affairs. “At the lakeshore, of course. The chief high priest came from the Kim-Morlian clan to officiate.” He bows — Soonyoung nearly flinches — and straightens, hands folded neatly. “By your leave, Your Majesty. I have to make sure the rest of my attending clan is settled.”

 

He leaves Soonyoung alone, but the peace doesn’t last. Jisoo calls him out of the tent moments later, to make his rounds and thank the leaders of the clans for attending, and accept their congratulations.

 

He catches a glimpse of Seokmin’s white tent, where his military commander friend is standing guard and looking very uncomfortable in his plate armour, but is hustled away by Jisoo before he can get a proper look.

 

—

 

Dusk comes, and Soonyoung is draped in pure white robes by his attending staff, Jisoo pulling the gold veil over his head once again and securing it with a golden circlet. It’s the only colour in his whole ensemble.

 

Seokmin is dressed in the same robes he was wearing when he was first presented to Soonyoung, with his pale blue veil secured by the circlet Soonyoung gifted him; Soonyoung’s heart swells when he sees it.

 

The chief high priest is standing with Seokmin’s hand in his, speaking quietly. He has almost completed his speech when Soonyoung draws level with Seokmin, and steps back, smiling at the couple.

 

“Blessings are on your marriage, dear ones,” the priest says. “You have come together on the shore of the Nyrian Lake in the Blessed Plains where the gods first descended, the source of all water and life in the Plains. Here will be the wellspring of your bond as well.”

 

He joins their hands, allowing Soonyoung’s gifted bracelet to catch the light.

 

“By the grace of the Gods, I bless your union. Do you, Seokmin of the Teluthion Empire, named Dokyeom by our gods, child of the moon, sun, and waters, take Soonyoung Kwon-Aerien as your husband and king?”

 

“I do,” Seokmin says, lifting his head. Soonyoung can’t quite see his face through their veils, but he imagines that his fiancé is smiling.

 

“And you, Soonyoung of the Kwon-Aerien clan, named Hoshi by the gods, child of the stars and earth, do you take Seokmin as your husband and prince?” The priest is smiling widely, and his hands that keep theirs joined are warm.

 

“I do,” Soonyoung responds, something warm swelling in his chest. The priest bows, pressing his full lips to their joined hands.

 

“Then, by the grace and love of the gods, I declare you bonded for life. In previous ceremonies to bind you, you have placed the ties to keep your souls bonded, and in this, I write your bond in the stone of Time. You shall never be parted, come sickness, war, or any other kind of strife.”

 

The last rays of sunlight cast glimmering incandescent spots over the couple, and Jeonghan and Jisoo step forward.

 

Jisoo lifts Seokmin’s veil, and Jeonghan lifts Soonyoung’s. Seokmin is smiling, his eyes wet with tears, and Soonyoung surges forward to wrap his arms around his husband.

 

Inexplicably, he aches to kiss the tears from Seokmin’s face, to swallow his husband’s laughter with a kiss, but he is already pushing boundaries by hugging Seokmin. Until the final ceremonies are completed, he is obliged to maintain his and his husband’s chastity, only touching his husband if the ceremonies or other circumstances absolutely demand it.

 

Seokmin’s arms are wrapped around him, too, though, and his hands are warm on Soonyoung’s back.

 

Jisoo clears his throat, and Soonyoung reluctantly lets go of Seokmin, stepping back. His whole face aches from smiling, and Seokmin has tear tracks running down his face.

 

“May the gods bless you for eternity,” the high priest intones. “And may they grant your people every blessing through the strength of your union.”

 

Just like that, Soonyoung is whirled away in a crowd of people, cheering and yelling. A hand that definitely belongs to Seungkwan claps him on the back, and Seungkwan hollers loudly in excitement.

 

This is the wedding feast, with massive tables of food set out and a space cleared for dancing. Soonyoung only finds himself with Seokmin in his arms once or twice, and the night flies past in a blink.

 

At some point, Soonyoung finds himself sitting on a barrel with Seokmin’s two companions, tankards of foamy ale in their hands.

 

“I.. shouldn’t be asking this, probably,” Soonyoung ventures, “but what’s that?” He gestures with his mug to the long, furry creature draped over the mage’s shoulders, which looks like a cross between a domestic cat and a lion.

 

“Oh, this is my familiar,” the mage responds easily. “Pelydryn, say hello.”

 

The familiar yawns and stretches, flexing its tufted feet to reveal sharp claws. “Nrrrryang,” it says, and Soonyoung sidles away slightly.

 

“Nice to meet you too,” he says clumsily.

 

The military-type boy laughs uproariously, slapping the mage on the shoulder. “She’s only a cat, Majesty,” he chuckles. “And Mingyu here couldn’t hurt a fly, no matter if he is a High Mage or no. Pelydryn won’t hurt you.”

 

Somewhat embarrassed, Soonyoung makes to hide his face in his tankard. “Of course,” he murmurs. “So, what of you? A military commander, accompanying a seventh son?”

 

The boy puffs up his chest, ceremonial medals glinting in the torchlight. “I am Lee Chan, a Knight of the Order of Spiritflame,” he declares proudly. “It’s our pride to serve the members of the royal family in any capacity they deem appropriate.” His satisfied look slips somewhat, but his posture remains proud. “It is my honour to accompany my prince and serve him in your lands, even if that means I am never to return to my homeland.”

 

Soonyoung smiles, reaching out to pat the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll find a welcoming home in the clans, Lee Chan. I promise.”

 

“Thank you, Majesty,” Chan defers, bowing slightly. “I hope that I will never have to defend my prince from you.” He drinks deeply from his tankard, something steely in the glint of his young eyes.

 

Soonyoung wobbles back to his tent some hours later, Chan’s words still spinning in his head. Defend Seokmin, from him? He would never dream of hurting Seokmin…

 

“But I suppose he doesn’t know that,” Soonyoung says aloud to the vase Jeonghan ordered placed in his tent. “We must be rumoured to be demons in his country, something to stop the young soldiers from feeling too bad about killing ours.” He frowns, looking down at the royal signet ring that adorns his left pinky, and clumsily bows to his altar, pressing his hand against the bluestone amulet in his pocket.  _ Merciful gods, bring us true peace, _ he prays, part of a lamentation composed by his father’s father’s cantor in the old days, halfway through the Great War. “And I suppose he has to be careful of his prince.” Unbidden, a memory of Seokmin’s smile and warm hands swims to the forefront of Soonyoung’s mind, and he shakes his head, smiling gently. “Anyone would be.”

 

He stumbles to bed, head swimming with alcohol, thoughts of war, and Seokmin.

 

He dreams of Seokmin in armour, holding a sword to his own neck with tears streaming down his beautiful face, his hair all singed off. Blue fire burns all around them, the ruins of Soonyoung’s once-grand palace.

 

Soonyoung jerks awake just as dream-Seokmin cries  _ I’m sorry _ and moves to cut his own throat.

 

“Soonyoung!” It’s Jisoo, clutching Soonyoung’s shoulders with a panicked expression. “Soonyoung, listen, it’s just a dream.” And it is, he’s in his tent, his face wet with tears.

 

Soonyoung chokes on a sob, reaching up to hug Jisoo tight. “I’m scared,” he admits as he hiccups into Jisoo’s shoulder, shaking madly. “What if the empire decides to wage war again? Poor Seokmin, he’d…”

 

“Shh,” Jisoo whispers, carding his fingers through Soonyoung’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. The empire wouldn’t dare go back on their word, nor would they attack when their own son might be caught in the crossfire. I am sure the emperor loves his son that much, at least.”

 

It’s still dark outside, perhaps an hour before dawn, when the next ceremony will be held in the middle of the Lake. “I want to see Seokmin,” Soonyoung murmurs, clutching Jisoo close to himself. “Can I… please?”

 

“He’s already awake, being dressed for the ceremony,” Jisoo says, hesitating. “You may look through the door of his tent, if it will ease your mind.”

 

“Thank you,” Soonyoung hiccups, and climbs off his bed to stumble, half asleep, to Seokmin’s simple white tent.

 

Jisoo brushes the door flap aside, exchanging quiet words with the people inside the tent, and Seokmin steps out, worry on his face.

 

“Seokmin,” Soonyoung breathes, scanning him all over. Seokmin’s still only half dressed in white and red under-robes, his hair pulled back into a braid that hangs down his back. Not singed down to stubble. He’s not bleeding, not crying.

 

Not dead by his own hand.

 

“I had a nightmare,” Soonyoung finishes lamely.

 

Seokmin frowns, his lower lip pushing out in a charming pout. “Oh no,” he murmurs, genuine concern in his voice, and he scoops up Soonyoung’s hand in both of his own, cradling it gently. “Are you all right after that? It must have been horrible…” He presses a kiss to the palm of Soonyoung’s hand, and it feels like he steals the breath right out of Soonyoung’s lungs with that one simple gesture.

 

Seokmin’s hands are soft and warm, large, long-fingered and delicate. Soonyoung’s hand, in comparison, seems small and almost chubby, like that of a child. His hand has held swords, spears, and cast magic that could raze entire military camps, but in Seokmin’s tender hands, it feels soft and small.

 

“I… I am fine,” Soonyoung murmurs, dazed. “I… um… ah. I should let you finish getting dressed.”

 

Seokmin smiles, leaning down to kiss Soonyoung’s fingertips without breaking eye contact. “I’ll see you soon,” he murmurs. “Husband.”

 

His whole face goes red at that, and Soonyoung’s does too, by the feel of it — Seokmin hides his face in embarrassment and rushes back into the tent with a swish of canvas on silk.

 

He had still been smiling.

 

Soonyoung replays the gentle kiss over and over as his retinue dresses him in elaborate white, gold, and red robes, fastening his most ceremonial crown to his head with more pins than Soonyoung would have thought existed in the entire world.

 

He steps onto his ceremonial barge with ease, despite the many layers of robes he’s wearing. Seokmin will be departing from the other side of the Lake, and they will meet in the centre, on a small island covered in cherry blossom trees with a tiny pond of crystal blue water in the centre.

 

The barge is covered in roses of red and white, perfuming the air in a twenty-foot circle around it; as the craft drifts toward the island, Jihoon sings quietly from his place behind Soonyoung and weaves roses into garlands. Jihoon is wearing ceremonial robes and headdress as well, pure white robes with dark, rich blue peeking out from under the white, and a black headdress with tiny  golden chimes and bells dangling from the wide brim, hung with a white veil. The chimes ring with every slight movement he makes, creating a sort of background music for his song.

 

“Thank you,” Soonyoung murmurs, and Jihoon rewards him with a soft smile, dimpling sweetly.

 

When they land on the island, Seokmin is disembarking at the exact same time Soonyoung does, wearing robes identical to Soonyoung’s, save for the wide belt of red and gold silk that wraps around his waist and lower chest, almost like a woman’s garment.

 

It accentuates his broad shoulders and chest, and Soonyoung forces himself not to stare.

 

His husband is crowned with the circlet Soonyoung had made him, and elaborate chains of gold flowers are draped over his head, fastened to the simple knot of hair at the crown of his head that’s bound with a woven gold and silver band.

 

This is the epicentre of the odd energy that flows through the Plains; Seokmin’s mage friend, Mingyu, looks faint, and he’s clutching his familiar to his chest as if it’s a lifeline. Soonyoung feels it too, as though his body is not quite entirely there, or his head is detached from his shoulders. He drifts through the crowd of assembled people, through the wide lane they’ve made to the centre of the island, where Wonwoo stands, veiled and robed in his most ceremonial garb.

 

“Friends and brethren, you witness the penultimate binding of these two loyal souls,” Wonwoo declares. As a High Speaker, this is his territory; his posture is alert and open, as though he is perfectly comfortable. “Soonyoung, child of the stars and earth, king of our clans, son of the royal Kwon-Aerien Clan, and hopeful to the title of husband, step forward.”

 

Soonyoung obeys, bowing deeply to Wonwoo and raising his folded hands so that his billowing sleeves briefly obscure his face.

 

Wonwoo lowers Soonyoung’s hands, pressing down gently and tipping Soonyoung’s face up. “The spirits of life, love, and loyalty live and thrive in a house of joy,” he says, holding Soonyoung’s gaze through his veil. “Do you swear to keep them alive through caring for your husband, family, and clan?”

 

“I swear,” Soonyoung replies.

 

“Do you swear to maintain peace in your household, as you will in your clan and your nation?”

 

“I swear.”

 

“And do you swear, by your honour, troth, and lifeblood spilled by your husband, to eternally remain a loving husband and caring father above all things, as is your sacred duty as man, husband, and king?”

 

“I swear all these things on the crown adorning my head, the lifeblood my husband has spilled, and the gentle hands I have used to wash my husband’s feet,” Soonyoung declares. “May I be stripped of all these things if I break my troth.”

 

Wonwoo nods and turns to Seokmin. “Seokmin, child of the sun, moon, and waters, prince consort to be of our clans, seventh son of the Teluthion empire, and hopeful to the title of husband, step forward.”

 

Seokmin does so, bowing deeply, and waits for Wonwoo to give him his vows.

 

“The spirits of fertility, devotion, and peace live and thrive in a house of honour,” Wonwoo says, his hands resting on Seokmin’s folded ones. “Do you swear to keep them alive through caring for your husband, family, and clan?”

 

“I swear,” Seokmin replies in his sweet voice, though it trembles slightly.

 

“Do you swear to nurture your family, as you will care for your husband’s clan and nation with him?”

 

“I swear.”

 

“And do you swear, by your honour, troth, and lifeblood spilled by your husband, to eternally remain a loving husband and caring father above all things, as is your sacred duty as man, husband, and king?”

 

“I swear all these things on the crown I have been given by my husband, the lifeblood my husband has spilled, and the gentle hands I have used to wash my husband’s feet.” Seokmin pauses to sniffle, perhaps wiping a tear away under cover of the gold chains draped over him as he bows his head. “May I be stripped of all these things if I break my troth.”

 

Wonwoo removes his ceremonial veil, stepping back. “Step into the water, dear ones,” he says, gesturing to the tiny pond. “We will present you with your lantern.”

 

They wade into the shallow pool of water, stirring up clouds of emerald dust, and Soonyoung wiggles his toes slightly in the cool water, burying them deeper into the pond bottom. Their robes swirl around their feet, clouds of white silk against sky blue.

 

Jeonghan and Jisoo have crafted their lantern together, carefully stretching paper over wire frames and affixing the tiny ring of fuel to the inside, and so they are the ones to present it. Soonyoung and Seokmin each accept it with one hand, holding each side of the fragile lantern carefully.

 

“Seokmin, will you light it?” Wonwoo asks, gesturing.

 

Seokmin nods and murmurs a charm, and the fuel lights with a quiet  _ whoosh _ , warming their hands. The marriage lantern is an age-old tradition, honouring one of their goddesses, and it is said that the further the lantern flies, the longer your marriage will last.

 

“Surrounded by water and your feet planted in the earth, release your lantern of fire into the air,” Wonwoo intones quietly. “These harmonies represent the different, and yet constant, aspects of your union. Blessings are on your marriage.”

 

Soonyoung helps Seokmin give the lantern a light shove upward, and they release it.

 

The light of their lantern is visible even in the soft dawn, floating off into the pink and gold sky until they can’t see it any more. Soonyoung stares into the sky, squinting — will the lantern ever come down? He’s heard stories, legends, of fated lovers whose bond was strong enough to send their lanterns to the very heavens, never to return; and Gods, he prays that he and Seokmin will be counted among them.

 

“You have permission to kiss your husband,” Wonwoo says, and grins.

 

Soonyoung’s world narrows to just Seokmin’s warm body against his, and he tugs his husband closer with an arm around his waist, closing the gap between them in the same breath.

 

It is a chaste kiss — they don’t know each other well, they are in public, and it is, after all, their first kiss. However, Seokmin’s lips are soft and warm, and Soonyoung allows the kiss to linger for much longer than is customary.

 

There’s something that feels like home about Seokmin’s lips on Soonyoung’s.


	5. V: Seokmin

There’s a ceremonial confinement of three days before the last ceremony. And it is extremely ceremonial, with priests and speakers absolutely drenched in incense accompanying Seokmin to the tent he’ll be sharing with his chaperon.

 

Said chaperon is a tall, sharp-eyed man with full lips and chiseled features, who looks intimidating for all of six minutes until he trips over a rug and gets up with an awkward giggle, and Seokmin is charmed immediately.

 

“My name is Junhui, of the Wen-Lurinell clan,” his chaperon introduces himself, once they’re settled in the tent. “I was supposed to be a Speaker, make my family proud, keep up the legacy and all that, but I just wasn’t cut out for it.”

 

“What do you do now?” Seokmin asks curiously.

 

Junhui stretches, all graceful long limbs. “Absolutely nothing,” he admits. “I write poetry sometimes, and dance when I feel like it, but that’s about it. Mother absolutely despairs of my future.”

 

Seokmin has to laugh at the half guilty, half laughing look on Junhui’s handsome face. “I’m sure you’ll find something you deem worthy of your time,” he laughs. “And besides, here you are chaperoning your king’s husband…” He trails off, fiddling nervously with the hem of his sleeves. “That must be worth something, right?”

 

Junhui reaches over, placing a cautious hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. “Seokmin,” he says softly, “you needn’t feel uneasy about becoming our king’s husband. Soonyoung is a wonderful man, and we all trust him as our king. If he decides that the best way to make peace is to take you as his spouse and co-ruler, then we will follow him.” He smiles crookedly, his eyes sparkling. “So let’s talk of more cheerful things. Are the Plains treating you well?”

 

The day passes quickly, with a round-cheeked boy with short hair popping in and out of the tent to bring food, news of Soonyoung, and company.

 

“I’m not supposed to be telling you how Soonyoung is doing, technically,” the boy says, nipping a round orange fruit from their dinner tray, “but I’m not superstitious, and he wants to know how you are.” He winks at Seokmin as he peels the fruit, staining his fingers with orange pith. “I’m Seungkwan, Soonyoung’s best friend since we were both babies.”

 

“And the current leader of the Liraein clan,” Junhui puts in, peeling his own fruit. “He assumed the position last year.”

 

Seungkwan groans and pops a segment of fruit into his mouth. “Do you have to?” he moans around the fruit. “Let me get to know him before I burden him with  _ clans _ and  _ politics _ and all that.”

 

Seokmin smiles gratefully. “I’m glad you’re coming,” he admits. “I… was wondering about Soonyoung.”

 

Seungkwan beams at him, positively glowing. “It’s no trouble, really,” he says, trying to be dismissive, but the faint spark of mischief in his eye gives him away. “Soonyoung would bite my head off if I didn’t check on you every three minutes.”

 

There’s comfortable silence while they eat. The food is like nothing Seokmin’s ever had before, all sweet fruits, rice and light fish sliced so thinly it melts in his mouth.

 

“What’s this?” he asks, holding up a slice of fish.

 

“Sashimi,” Seungkwan says through a mouthful of rice. “Good with rice and that red sauce there _. _ ”

 

The sauce is sweet and spicier than Seokmin had expected, and he spends a few minutes gulping water to try and get the burn out of his mouth while Junhui and Seungkwan laugh uproariously.

 

Junhui helps him adjust to the different style of chopsticks the clans use, thinner and longer than the ones Seokmin’s used to, explaining that usually, they would only use chopsticks for extremely formal occasions, such as a wedding.

 

“Back at… the empire, we use chopsticks every day,” Seokmin says. His heart pinches uncomfortably when he realizes that the empire isn’t  _ home _ anymore, and he avoids their concerned gazes by stuffing his mouth with rice.

 

“So, why did your empire send you?” Junhui asks suddenly, evidently trying to get around the awkwardness. “No offence, we’re glad to have you! But, I have been wondering why they would send their seventh son. Wouldn’t a lesser noble have done just as well?”

 

Seokmin takes a long sip of water before responding. “I was the only carrier of a proper age and rank,” he admits. “It’s not traditional at all to send a bride who cannot bear children to secure a union.”

 

Seungkwan’s mouth opens in an “o”. “But Soonyoung is a carrier too, didn’t they know that?” he says in astonishment. “Goodness, you two better be careful in your bedchambers, or you’ll both end up with child at the same time!”

 

Seokmin flushes bright red, hiding behind his sleeve. “No, we didn’t know!” he exclaims. “Besides, I… I asked.”

 

“You asked to be sent away?” Junhui asks, dropping a piece of sashimi in shock. “Why?”

 

Seokmin fidgets nervously, avoiding their eyes. “I volunteered, more like,” he amends. “No one else wanted to become a bride to the country that’s been at war with ours for so long, especially not any of my friends, sisters, or brothers. I’m the first carrier in my family after six sons who can’t bear children, and then sisters, sisters, sisters, and my next youngest brother is only ten years old.” He pokes at his rice, feeling ill all of a sudden. “And my father wanted to send a prince or princess, to better secure peace.”

 

He wants Jeonghan. The elder is so good at comforting Seokmin, but he’s confined to this stupid tent where none of his friends are allowed to see him, and this lake makes his whole body feel weird and his emotions run higher than ever…

 

Seungkwan shuffles over to put his arm around Seokmin, pulling him into a tight, warm hug. “I’m glad you’re here, anyway,” he murmurs into Seokmin’s hair. “You’re so brave, Gods, I wouldn’t be able to do that in a million years!”

 

Seokmin hiccups weakly, trying to hold back tears. “I… I just wanted to help,” he murmurs. Seungkwan’s chest is broad and firm, and comfortable to rest against. “I don’t want us to be at war any more, I’m tired of it.”

 

Seungkwan holds him close. “Go ahead and cry,” he whispers. “I won’t tell anyone.”

 

So Seokmin bawls into Seungkwan’s shoulder, homesick and overwhelmed. Junhui feeds him little bits of fruit between sobs, rubbing his back with a gentle hand and cooing words of encouragement and comfort.

 

When Seungkwan brings breakfast the next day, he presses a soft kiss to Seokmin’s forehead, murmuring “Soonyoung told me to give that to you,” with a smile.

 

—

 

The final ceremony is to be held in the late afternoon, on the fourth day since their ceremony in the centre of the lake.

 

Jeonghan and Minghao bustle into Seokmin’s tent hours before the ceremony is to begin, carrying massive wooden chests and looking harried.

 

“We need to get you bathed and dressed,” Minghao says, raking his hand through his bangs. “Gods, why are weddings so hard?”

 

Jeonghan laughs, setting his box down with a loud thump. “Come on, Minghao, no time to waste,” he teases. “Seokmin, come here, let me get this off of you…”

 

They strip him quickly, and Minghao scrubs Seokmin down with warm water while Jeonghan rummages in his trunk for other essentials.

 

The soaps they use to clean him smell of roses and jasmine, with a sharp note of citrus; Seokmin closes his eyes with a soft smile as Jeonghan massages them into his skin. Minghao combs and washes Seokmin’s hair while Jeonghan takes care of his body, combing warm water and cleaning oil through the long strands.

 

“You should see Soonyoung,” Minghao grumbles. “Pacing up a storm, I don’t envy Hakyeon…”

 

“Be nice,” Jeonghan scolds, wrapping Seokmin in a soft towel. “They have every right to be nervous, it’s their wedding day.”

 

Minghao scoffs and turns to his chest, pulling a filmy white under-robe out. “It’s been their wedding day for a sennight already,” he mumbles, though there’s something lighter in his voice. “Anyway, come here so we can get you dressed, Seokmin.”

 

The robes they’re draping over Seokmin’s body are made from red, gold, and white silk, the most elaborate of any he’s worn in his life; he stops counting the layers when Minghao ties the fourth closed. Each layer is intricately embroidered with gold and white thread, and he recognizes the patterns embroidered on one layer as the same that were destroyed on his Last Night.

 

When he’s dressed, Jeonghan begins covering him in jewellery, and Minghao makes him sit so that he can begin styling Seokmin’s hair.

 

Gold bracelets adorn both of Seokmin’s wrists, clinking against each other musically, and Jeonghan has pushed a pair of armbands up to Seokmin’s biceps under his robes; a gold belt hangs around his waist, elaborate gold chains hanging from it, both free to hang down past his knees and looped over his hips, fastened at the back of his belt.

 

Crystal earrings hang from his ears, and a gold necklace adorned with rubies, diamonds, and polished jade beads sits in the hollow of his throat.

 

Minghao has pulled half of Seokmin’s hair into an elaborately braided knot at the crown of his head, held in place by innumerable pins and a golden crown of flowers that drips with crystal and golden beads.

 

Minghao carefully paints Seokmin’s face with a simple pattern on his forehead that curls down around his temples and cheekbones, then lines his eyes with gold and paints his lips a faint red.

 

The ensemble is completed when Jeonghan flings a shimmering white veil over Seokmin’s head.

 

Minghao kneels, bowing so that his forehead touches the ground at Seokmin’s feet. “My lord. May I have permission to assist you into your shoes?”

 

Seokmin nods, a tight ball of nervous energy in his chest. The shoes are the last step, he assumes, before the final ceremony.

 

Minghao slides a pair of velvet and gold shoes onto Seokmin’s feet, studded with twinkling diamonds, and bends to kiss the top of each foot reverently. “My prince and future ruler, may your marriage be blessed forever with joy and strength,” he murmurs. “And Seokmin… good luck.”

 

Jeonghan ritualistically extinguishes each lantern in the tent, and they lead Seokmin out.

 

As soon as they reach the edge of the camp, horns and stringed instruments strike up a triumphant melody, startling Seokmin. A little girl runs up to him, grinning wide enough to display the gap in her bottom front teeth, and hands him a huge bouquet of red and white roses. “Come with me!” she chirps, and turns, pointing toward the lakeshore.

 

Everyone in the camp is gathered there, and they part in one smooth movement, creating a path for Seokmin to where Soonyoung is waiting.

 

As if in a daze, Seokmin doesn’t register that he’s walking until he’s face-to-face with Soonyoung, who holds out his hand for Seokmin to take with a wide smile under his own white veil.

 

“This is your king, who saved you from the horrors of war,” someone chants. “This is his prince, whose offer of peace has quelled flames of rage that have burned for generations.”

 

“If any here object to our union, speak now!” Soonyoung declares, his voice booming with authority. “Else forever remain silent.”

 

No one speaks.

 

Soonyoung pulls an elaborate dagger from his sleeve, clasping it against his breast. “I swear on my own lifeblood never to betray you,” he states. “If by my life I can grant you freedom, I will give it. If by my labour I can grant you joy, I will sing as I work, though the labour may be immense. All these I swear, for I am your eternity as you are mine.”

 

With that, he makes a shallow cut in his palm, just deep enough for blood to begin seeping out.

 

Soonyoung takes the bouquet with his non-bleeding hand, handing Seokmin the dagger. “May our union bring us joy forever.”

 

Seokmin takes the dagger shakily, his hand already tensing at the thought of cutting himself. He repeats the vows Soonyoung had made, and, wincing, cuts a thin line in his opposite palm from Soonyoung’s.

 

Soonyoung reaches out and presses their cuts together, looking solemn. “You cannot possess me, for I am my own master,” he murmurs. “But I will give you all that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I will serve you in all ways you require, and honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”

 

Seokmin knows these vows, and his heart clenches with gratitude for Soonyoung’s use of them. The next part of the vows, he speaks in unison with Soonyoung, clutching his hand tightly. “I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying forever, equally in your care. This is my wedding vow to you; this is a marriage of equals.”

 

His palm tingles, and when their hands drift apart, there’s no cut on his hand, only a smear of dried blood.

 

“My lifeblood is yours,” Soonyoung says. “And your lifeblood is mine. As the gods blessed our mingling of blood offered to the earth, may they bless this exchange of life and spirit.”

 

They cast aside the dagger and bouquet, and both kneel, facing each other.

 

Jeonghan comes to stand before them, and kneels, opening his palms to reveal a single sweet berry and rice ball in each. “There will be sweetness and bitterness in your lives,” he says. “Withstand the bitterness, and the sweet will come all the more powerfully.”

 

In perfect synchronization, Soonyoung and Seokmin reach for the rice balls, placing them in their mouths. Seokmin winces at the bitter, spicy-sour flavour that soaks the rice, but chews it carefully.

 

“I will strive to understand the bitterness that comes,” he murmurs. “And I will treasure you even in those times. I am yours in bitter and sweet.”

 

They take the berries, washing away the awful taste with summer-warm sweetness.

 

“I will welcome your sweetness, and treasure it all the more when it is scarce,” Soonyoung replies. “I am yours in sweet and bitter.”

 

Mingyu comes forward next, with Pelydryn perched on his shoulders and looking extremely proud.

 

Wordlessly, he passes his hand above them in a sweeping circle, leaving a line of glowing gold above their heads. He continues to sweep his hand through the air, leaving lines of gold in the shape of a complex sigil.

 

“Through my authority as a High Mage of the Teluthion Empire, I craft this sigil as a binding of your souls for eternity,” Mingyu says gravely. “In life or death, a part of you shall always be with the other. And at the end of your days, you will rise to the afterlife hand in hand, with the sign of your eternal faith written in the very stars.”

 

He pulls two gold rings from an inner pocket of his robe and holds them flat on his palm, closing his eyes. The flaming sigil glows brightly, and Seokmin watches in awe as the lines Mingyu wrote in the air flare to life on the otherwise simple rings.

 

Soonyoung takes his ring first, sliding it onto Seokmin’s first finger with utmost care. Seokmin does the same, and he sees Soonyoung’s eyes glimmer with joyful tears through the layers of white silk that separate them.

 

They are married.

 

Seokmin reaches out to lift Soonyoung’s veil away, and Soonyoung does the same for him, smiling brightly.

 

And they kiss, much more passionately than they had on the island, as the sun sets and the audience erupts into earsplitting cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: smut
> 
> also the wedding vows I used are traditional Celtic vows!!! in context of this chapter, they’re usually used in marriages for love in Seokmin’s homeland, so it’s very surprising to Seokmin that Soonyoung learned and used them for him :)


	6. VI: Soonyoung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut time! ive never actually done the do at all so lmao this is bad but I hope there’s enough character stuff to make up for that <3

Seokmin is laughing as their people shower him and Soonyoung with flower petals and push at them playfully, obstructing the path to their tent with loud laughter.

 

Eventually, the now-wedded couple spill into Soonyoung’s tent, laughing and breathing hard.

 

Seokmin straightens his crown, laughing breathlessly, and squeezes Soonyoung’s hand ever so slightly. His eyes are alight with joy, and his smile is more beautiful than anything Soonyoung could have imagined.

 

“You did well,” Soonyoung murmurs. “With all our ceremonies. I imagine this must be so strange for you…”

 

Seokmin shrugs, his jewellery jingling softly. “Not so strange,” he admits. “They were… better than the ceremony I had at home.” He shudders slightly, his bright eyes dimming.

 

A loud gong surprises them both, and the entire camp goes silent.

 

“The consummation,” Soonyoung whispers. “No one is permitted to disturb us until tomorrow morning.” His stomach flutters with nerves, and he sees Seokmin’s jaw tense slightly. “We don’t… we don’t have to, you know.”

 

“No, we can,” Seokmin says, casting his gaze away. “I — I am ready… just nervous.”

 

Soonyoung leads him to the bedroom in silence, doing his best to project an air of calm. “Traditionally, we help each other undress,” he murmurs, reaching for Seokmin’s crown. “Do you have any objections?”

 

Seokmin shakes his head, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. “No, it’s fine.” He smiles at Soonyoung, peeking through his eyelashes. “Then let me help you.”

 

And he does, undoing Soonyoung’s robes with his gentle, delicate hands and carefully sliding them off Soonyoung’s shoulders. “Should I…” he begins, looking hesitantly at the first layer in his hand.

 

“Just leave them on the floor,” Soonyoung murmurs, lowering Seokmin’s hand with his own. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

The bedroom is filled with roses and warm lanterns, giving off a heady perfume, and Soonyoung helps Seokmin disrobe in something of a daze. Gold showers to the floor in a jingling puddle, and silk rustles softly as it falls. The last layer of silken robes reveals an expanse of beautiful tan skin, speckled with faint moles, and Soonyoung finds himself transfixed, running his hands over Seokmin’s body in fascination.

 

To his surprise, this elicits a faint whimper, and Seokmin shivers under his touch. “Please — the bed,” he murmurs.

 

“In a moment,” Soonyoung replies, picking up a soft cloth from a nearby chest and dipping it in the accompanying bowl of water. He passes it gently over Seokmin’s face, carefully wiping away the designs that Minghao had painstakingly painted onto Seokmin’s golden skin. “Now we can go to the bed.”

 

Their marriage bed is high and heaped with pillows, blankets, and rich pelts; candles burn in brass sconces cut into its posts, and garlands of frothy white and red roses are draped over the frame.

 

Soonyoung helps Seokmin lie down on the bed, all flushed and spread out, nervous fingers twining into a blanket.

 

“I will take care of you,” Soonyoung promises. “Have you ever…”

 

Seokmin flushes darker, looking away as he bites his lip. “I — no, I’m… a virgin,” he replies, trailing away at the end. “I’ve never even… never even kissed anyone.”

 

Soonyoung swallows hard, heat pooling in his groin as he looks down at Seokmin. “Then I will be even more careful with you, Seokmin,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss Seokmin’s neck gently.

 

Seokmin is sensitive, he finds, mewling and gasping as Soonyoung skims his lips down his body, pausing to mouth at one nipple until it’s hard and puffy, then tracing his way down, down toward Seokmin’s smooth belly.

 

“Ahh-hhhh,” Seokmin gasps out as Soonyoung’s lips dance hesitantly over his hipbone and past his smallclothes, trailing kisses to his inner thigh. “S-Soonyoung…”

 

“Shh,” Soonyoung murmurs against Seokmin’s skin. “You’re doing amazingly.”

 

He slips one finger past the edge of Seokmin’s loincloth, rubbing tentatively at the skin there.

 

“Please — let me kiss you,” Seokmin begs, and who is Soonyoung to refuse that request? He surges up to meet Seokmin’s mouth with his, licking eagerly at the seam of Seokmin’s lips. Seokmin opens his mouth in a faint gasp, and Soonyoung thrusts his tongue into the opening, curling his tongue around Seokmin’s.

 

Seokmin takes a few startled seconds to respond, but then he’s pushing up into Soonyoung’s kiss, letting out quiet whimpers to be swallowed by Soonyoung’s lips.

 

Soonyoung is the one to break the kiss, gasping for air, and smiles down at Seokmin, who looks  _ ruined _ just from that simple kiss. His lips are swollen and bright red, and his eyes are half-lidded. His chest rises and falls rapidly, stained with the barest marks of Soonyoung’s kisses.

 

“I’ll take care of you,” Soonyoung murmurs, and trails down Seokmin’s body once again.

 

Seokmin’s loincloth is discarded easily this time, as is Soonyoung’s. Disregarding his own hardness, Soonyoung bends down to kiss along the line of Seokmin’s half-hard shaft, gaining a loud moan and sudden buck of Seokmin’s hips.

 

“Is that good, my prince?” Soonyoung asks against the rapidly hardening length, and Seokmin’s cock twitches against the vibration. “No one’s ever touched you this way… I’m honoured to be your first, little prince.”

 

Seokmin keens, fisting his hands in the blankets until his knuckles are white. “S-Soon-young-ng,” he hiccups. “Please, oh…”

 

“Shh,” Soonyoung murmurs, sitting up to weigh Seokmin’s length in his hand. “I promised to take care of you, and I will, little prince.”

 

He slides his hand up and down the shaft of Seokmin’s cock, thumbing the head idly and pressing his thumb ever so lightly into the slit. In return, Seokmin’s cock throbs in Soonyoung’s hand, dribbling fluid as he moans loudly. His cock is long and heavy, a slightly lighter shade than the rest of his body and flushed red at the tip, and Soonyoung can’t resist leaning down to give it a small kiss.

 

Seokmin cries out, and Soonyoung is abruptly reminded of the purpose of this night.

 

“I have to prepare you,” Soonyoung says, reaching for the pot of oil on one of the bedside tables. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Seokmin nods, his eyes screwed shut and abdomen flexing against the onslaught of sensation. “Thank you,” he gasps. “G-get it done quickly, please.”

 

“Do you not like it?” Soonyoung asks, stopping dead halfway through unscrewing the lid. “I can stop whenever you want.”

 

Seokmin opens his eyes with difficulty. “N-no,” he admits, his whole body quivering. “I… I like it. And…” He colours prettily, the flush creeping down his neck to his chest. “If — if just this feels so good…” He trails off, bucking his hips slightly as Soonyoung grins. “Please.”

 

Soonyoung nods, coating one finger liberally with the sweet-scented oil. “I understand. Lift your knees for me, sweet, put your feet against the bed… that’s a good boy.”

 

He presses the tip of his coated finger against Seokmin’s entrance, testing the tightness of the pink furl of muscle. “Relax, Seokmin,” he murmurs. “I will do my best not to hurt you.”

 

Seokmin’s hole gives, and Soonyoung smiles, pressing his finger inside ever so slightly.

 

“Oh,” Seokmin gasps out as Soonyoung’s finger sinks in down to the first knuckle, tight muscles spasming around Soonyoung’s finger. “Th-that…”

 

Soonyoung sinks his finger in deeper, thrusting it in and out slowly. “Does it feel good?” he asks quietly, listening for any noises of discomfort.

 

Seokmin’s face screws up again, pondering that. “It doesn’t feel… bad,” he murmurs, gasping out the last word. “Just strange.” He shivers and moans as Soonyoung manages to slide his finger in fully, curling it to loosen the muscles.

 

Soonyoung keeps that up until Seokmin’s face smooths out, watching him carefully as he slides his finger in and out. “Relax,” he says again, carefully withdrawing his finger. “I’m going to put the next one in, all right?”

 

Seokmin nods, his face glistening with a slight sheen of sweat. “I’m ready,” he says, and takes a deep breath.

 

Soonyoung dips two fingers into the oil, rubbing them together to warm it slightly, and slides them inside Seokmin. When they slide easily in and out, he pushes them in deeper, curling his fingers and rubbing at Seokmin’s walls, searching.

 

Seokmin positively shrieks, his back arching off the bed and hands clenching, his whole body spasming in pleasure. “W-what… was that?” he pants once his back is flat again and Soonyoung has withdrawn his fingers slightly, a satisfied smile on his face.

 

“Your prostate, your pleasure spot,” Soonyoung murmurs, spreading his fingers apart slightly. “I wanted to show you how good this can feel…”

 

Seokmin is much more vocal after that, as Soonyoung gently works him open with two fingers, then three. The third garners a small hiss of pain, and Soonyoung bends down to kiss Seokmin’s thigh in apology.

 

“I’m sorry, dear one,” he murmurs. “I know it hurts. It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He skates the pads of his fingers over Seokmin’s prostate again, smiling at Seokmin’s pleased moans.

 

It isn’t long before Seokmin is pushing his hips back against Soonyoung’s hand, gasping and moaning in sheer bliss. “I — I want more,” he pants. “Can you — ahhh-ah! — can you put another in?”

 

Soonyoung bites his lip, glancing down at his hard length where it rests hot and heavy between his thighs, pearly drops of fluid shining at the tip. “I can give you something more,” he replies, and pulls his fingers out.

 

The oil is cold on his length, but Soonyoung doesn’t give it a chance to warm up before he’s lining up with Seokmin’s entrance, pushing his knees apart. After all, Seokmin had begun whining and rutting against the blankets as soon as Soonyoung’s fingers had slipped from his hole, and Soonyoung is eager to return to pleasuring him.

 

Seokmin lets out a long cry when Soonyoung begins pushing into him, wriggling slightly when the head of Soonyoung’s cock breaches his rim. “Ah —Soonyoung — it hurts,” he manages, gritting his teeth.

 

Soonyoung bends down to kiss his chest softly, halting. “It will pass,” he murmurs, holding himself up with one hand on the bed and one on Seokmin’s knee. “I — I promise it will be better soon, just wait.”

 

Seokmin’s muscles adjust quickly, and Soonyoung resumes pushing in with shallow rolls of his hips. “Just like that, my prince,” he gasps. “You’re doing… so well, so good for me…”

 

When he’s fully inside, Seokmin groans low in his throat, clutching at Soonyoung’s hand. “So f-full,” he says, his mouth falling open in the prettiest moan. His eyes are closed tightly, his eyelashes fluttering, and a lovely sheen of sweat makes his face and neck shine in the warm lamplight.

 

“You feel so good,” Soonyoung praises, bracing his other hand beside Seokmin’s head. “Here, put your legs around my waist… just like that, gods, you’re so good, doing so well, my little prince…” He rolls his hips experimentally, and Seokmin rewards him with a pleased moan.

 

Soonyoung sets a gentle pace, thrusting carefully into Seokmin without moving too much, allowing him to adjust to the feeling of a cock stuffed inside his body.

 

“So pretty, speared on my cock like that,” Soonyoung murmurs, smiling down at Seokmin. “So good and pretty for me, I’m so proud of you, taking me so well on your first time…”

 

Seokmin tentatively lifts his arms up, locking them around Soonyoung’s shoulders with a quiet groan. “S-Soonyoung — faster, please,” he gasps, and Soonyoung is glad to oblige him.

 

Like that, they chase their climaxes together. Seokmin drops his hand to fist desperately at his cock, face open and glistening with sweat. Soonyoung dives down to kiss him, and Seokmin opens his mouth eagerly, pushing his tongue inside Soonyoung’s mouth with as much force as Soonyoung had given his earlier.

 

As Soonyoung’s hips start to stutter, Seokmin’s face contorts, and he digs his short nails into Soonyoung’s back. “Hot,” he moans. “So hot, Soonyoung, feels so good and…”

 

Soonyoung drives his hips deeper into Seokmin, gasping. “Just a bit more,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to Seokmin’s shoulder. “Just…”

 

Seokmin releases with a cry, and in the same breath, as if cued by Seokmin’s climax, Soonyoung spurts hot, thick seed into Seokmin’s belly with a loud moan, his hips stilling as he remains buried deep inside Seokmin.

 

Seokmin’s release paints their chests and stomachs white, and he claws desperately at Soonyoung’s back, moaning and crying out in pleasure until he goes limp.

 

Soonyoung’s elbows give out, and he collapses on top of Seokmin, panting. “Did so good,” he murmurs, rolling off to pull himself out of Seokmin. “You’re so good, Seokmin, so good for me…”

 

Seokmin smiles beatifically, gorgeous in the post-climax glow. “You too,” he replies. “Thank you…”

 

Soonyoung kisses the tip of Seokmin’s beautiful nose, grinning like a fool. “Let me clean this up, and we can sleep.”

 

Seokmin glances down at the mess of pearly release on Soonyoung’s stomach and gives him an adorable giggle. “That’s probably wise,” he agrees.

 

Soonyoung wipes them down carefully, and climbs into bed stark naked after extinguishing most of the lamps.

 

Seokmin, already mostly asleep, shuffles slightly when Soonyoung pulls the blankets over them, then very suddenly rolls over and pulls Soonyoung close, clinging to him like a child would with a toy.

 

Soonyoung stifles a laugh and wraps his arms around Seokmin in return, closing his eyes with a smile.

 

—

 

He wakes up warm, wrapped in Seokmin’s arms, with Seungkwan absolutely screaming outside their tent and banging something that rings with a loud clatter of metal.

 

“Whuzzgonon?” Seokmin asks groggily, lifting his head and squinting in the light. His hair is a tangled mane, and Soonyoung has to stop himself from reaching out to pat the wildest bits down with a laugh.

 

“Seungkwan,” Soonyoung responds shortly, letting out a long sigh. “Best friend and all that, he probably wants a full description of what happened last night.”

 

Seokmin drops his head, looking odd. “Then you’d better go to him,” he murmurs. “Before he wakes up the whole camp.”

 

He turns over and curls into a ball, facing away from Soonyoung determinedly.

 

Seungkwan keeps banging away, and Soonyoung reluctantly drags himself out of the bed to make him be quiet.

 

He dresses simply for the first time in almost six days, belting a simple grey robe around himself with a blue sash and pulling his hair into a low, loose ponytail. Not even bothering with shoes or boots, he brushes the door flap open and comes face to face with a grinning Seungkwan.

 

“So?” Seungkwan asks, evil intent in that smile.

 

Soonyoung only scowls, crossing his arms. “Seungkwan,” he says calmly, “I am going to give you twenty seconds to run before I come after you. One… two…  _ ten _ …”

 

Seungkwan runs, and Soonyoung grunts in satisfaction, turning back to the tent where Seokmin is still curled in their bed.

 

“Sweetness,” he ventures, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?”

 

“My back hurts,” Seokmin mumbles. He curls a little tighter, refusing to look at Soonyoung. “Please… I want to be alone for a bit.” The sheer misery in his tone breaks Soonyoung’s heart, and he stands silently.

 

“Should I… should I send Jeonghan to you?” he asks quietly. Seokmin doesn’t reply, and Soonyoung leaves the tent feeling rather dejected.

 

He makes his way to the shore, which has been swept clean of the tracks left by their ceremonies overnight, and sits down to look at the sparkling lake.

 

Does Seokmin regret the events of the previous night? Has he somehow concluded that it was a mistake, consummating their marriage? Or is he simply homesick, mourning the final blow that cost him his homeland?

 

Someone sits down next to Soonyoung, but doesn’t speak for a long, long while.

 

“Your Plains are beautiful,” they say at length, and Soonyoung snaps his head up and comes face to face with Jeonghan, dressed in simple cream robes and a dark grey-blue overcoat. “But I hope that the rest of your country doesn’t have this odd unsettling feeling.”

 

Soonyoung swallows hard, working his mouth uselessly for a few moments. “It doesn’t,” he ends up saying. “Most of our lands are… are quite peaceful.”

 

“Mm,” Jeonghan hums, his dark brown gaze travelling over the lake. “My Seokmin… our Seokmin is a tender soul,” he says. “He feels things very deeply… sometimes I wonder if that will be his undoing or his salvation.”

 

“He… he won’t speak to me today,” Soonyoung murmurs. “He won’t even tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“He doubts himself, often,” Jeonghan says. He glances at Soonyoung out of the corner of his eye, calculating and cool. “You left him after that?”

 

“He asked to be left alone,” Soonyoung explains, and Jeonghan nods, returning his gaze to the lake.

 

They sit in silence for a long moment, gazing at the lake together. A warm breeze dances through the air, bright with the promise of a warm summer day.

 

“I don’t think Seokmin regrets this decision,” Jeonghan muses. “But he is soft-hearted, and he is easily hurt. He will miss our homeland, he will feel guilty for missing home, and it will be up to you and your clans to ensure that he does not sink into an endless chasm of misery. Help him feel at home, help him feel wanted and loved, but do not push him.” He reaches out and pats Soonyoung’s shoulder with casual familiarity, something that took some of Soonyoung’s friends years to achieve. “I don’t think that will be a problem with you, somehow.” There’s a teasing glint in his eye as he stands up, brushing sand and soft dirt from his robes. “Go back to your husband. Make him feel accepted.”

 

He calls out again as Soonyoung starts off, making the king halt and half turn back to him.

 

“And remember,” Jeonghan calls, “Seokmin is only twenty-one. He is still such a young man…” He hesitates, twisting his hands in the billowing sleeves of his coat. “Take care of him for me.”

 

Soonyoung nods, something warm swelling in his breast. “I will,” he promises, and breaks into a run.

 

Seokmin is sitting on the edge of the bed, still unclothed, staring down at his knees with a miserable expression. He doesn’t react when Soonyoung enters their bedroom, brushing aside the saffron and navy curtains with one hand.

 

“Seokmin, dear one,” Soonyoung says quietly, circling the bed to draw level with his husband. “Do you want help?”

 

Seokmin doesn’t respond, taking a long, shuddering breath.

 

“This is… this is it, isn’t it, Your Majesty?” Seokmin says at length, not lifting his gaze. “I am your husband.”

 

“Yes, and I am yours,” Soonyoung responds, unease churning in his gut. “Are you all right?” He begins to reach out, hoping to comfort Seokmin, but he flinches away as though Soonyoung will hurt him.

 

“I — I would rather you not touch me, Your Majesty,” he says, covering his face. “Please. I… where are my clothes?” His throat bobs gently in a nervous swallow. “I would like to get dressed.”

 

“Seokmin, I won’t hurt you,” Soonyoung murmurs, trying to reach for his husband again. “Please, let me help you — you must be in pain after last night — I just want to help!”

 

His hand closes around Seokmin’s arm, and Seokmin submits limply, refusing to meet Soonyoung’s eyes. Pain twisting his heart, he thinks that that is worse than Seokmin resisting.

 

He helps Seokmin dress in the clothes Minghao silently brought to their tent early that morning, wincing every time Seokmin takes in a sharp breath of pain.

 

They depart for Soonyoung’s castle in the centre of the kingdom the next day, a journey that will take sixteen days on the back of the Clans’ swiftest horses. Jeonghan fastens a wide-brimmed hat with an attached veil onto Seokmin’s head, shielding his face from wind, sun, and prying eyes. Underneath, Seokmin wears the circlet that was his bridal gift.

 

As they ride, Chan brings his horse level with Soonyoung’s, casting him a harsh look through the visor of his helmet. “You had better take care of my prince,” he says quietly. “I will not stand for any man hurting him.” He rides forward, overtaking Soonyoung.

 

_ It is already too late,  _ Soonyoung thinks, guilt weighing his shoulders down.  _ I am so, so sorry, Seokmin, and Chan… I am so sorry to have betrayed your trust. _

  
The knight’s armour gleams silver in the sun, light bouncing off the steel plates and the embossed leather sheath of the sword on his back.  _ Forgive me, young knight, _ Soonyoung prays.  _ Gods, forgive me. _


	7. VII: Seokmin

The ride is torture to Seokmin for the first three days; his lower back and thighs ache with every movement of the horse he’s been given, a gorgeous palomino saddled with dark leather and rich red cloth. He had asked for the veil — it would prevent anyone from seeing his face and any tears he might shed on the journey.

 

And he does cry, especially when they’re on the road and everything just becomes too much, or late at night when Soonyoung is asleep and can’t hear him. He wonders whether this is what any number of concubines and treaty brides have done, or whether he is just weak.

 

The capital city of Marae comes into view on the morning of the seventeenth day, bright flags flying from its pale stone walls. The roofs of the city are shingled in red, gold, and green, and the city entrance is a beautiful round archway, closed by an elaborate iron gate.

 

Soonyoung gives Seokmin a nervous smile from his own black steed, slowing so he’s level with Seokmin. “We’re here,” he says softly. “Welcome home.”

 

Evidently, they had sent a messenger ahead; the streets are lined with cheering people, tossing flower petals and blossoms in front of the procession and over their heads. Soonyoung laughs, carefree, and waves exuberantly to his people.

 

The castle in the centre of the city is a low-standing compound with a towering central building, made of alabaster stone and inlaid with colourful designs. They dismount in the main courtyard, and Soonyoung steps forward, offering his hand to Seokmin.

 

“We live in the royal villa, around the back of the tower,” he murmurs. “Come with me, I want to show you where our rooms are.”

 

Our rooms. Seokmin shivers, wondering what he’ll be expected to do as Soonyoung’s husband. He hadn’t been told much — the empire didn’t know the most basic ways of the Clans, let alone their traditions and views on marriage.

 

The air of the Plains had lent an odd haze to the ceremonies and rituals surrounding their marriage; but as soon as they had left, it was as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. In the empire, the emperor is surrounded by hundreds of concubines, favoured wives, mistresses — how could Seokmin know if the Clans of Marae are any different? Would he be expected to be just another cog in the grand machinations of the palace, or would he be Soonyoung’s only consort?

 

Which would be worse?

 

He allows Soonyoung to lead him through the palace anyway, through a gorgeous courtyard and into the royal villa.

 

“This is our bedchamber,” Soonyoung says, pushing open an elaborately carved wooden door into a grander room than any Seokmin’s seen before.

 

The dark wood floor is strewn with rich rugs, a roaring fire burns in the alabaster and gold hearth, and on a raised dais in the centre stands a bed that could surely accommodate ten people. The bed is draped in crimson and navy blue, with crisp sheets of pure white silk, and curtains of sheer white and royal purple fabric are tied back around the elaborately carved and gilded headboard.

 

The walls are covered in gorgeous paintings, and part of the room is sectioned off with an elaborately carved wood folding screen, which is folded back to reveal a small table and two chairs made of a rich golden wood.

 

“The indoor bath is through here,” Soonyoung continues, leading Seokmin through the room to another door, which opens into a marble bathroom easily twice the size of Seokmin’s bedchamber back in the empire. The tub is a sunken pool of ornately carved white stone that seems almost translucent, with hundreds of bottles of coloured glass littering the shelves around it. “And the outdoor bath and sauna is through that door, with its own private courtyard.” He gestures to a white-painted door, looking proud.

 

Soonyoung shows him the study, the wardrobe that connects the bath and bedchambers, the room that will be Seokmin’s private reception chamber, their private sitting room, and the small private dining area with its missing wall, allowing them to look out at the gardens while they eat.

 

“Your Majesty…” Seokmin begins, his voice trembling. “This is all… this is all so much. Are you sure I shouldn’t be in a more modest room? I am only a consort…” His belly twists uncomfortably as he forces the words out, a sour-sick feeling welling up in his chest.

 

Soonyoung looks horrified, his face draining of colour. “Only — Seokmin, you are so much more than that,” he stammers, grasping both of Seokmin’s hands tightly. “My gods, what is the empire like, to teach you that a king’s consort deserves less than the best he can give you?”

 

Seokmin avoids Soonyoung’s gaze — without the wedding veils obscuring their faces, he feels oddly exposed, as though Soonyoung’s earnest eyes can see straight through to his soul. “I — back in the empire, the emperor has many wives,” he confesses. “To be a king’s consort… it is nothing deserving of this honour.” He blinks tears out of his eyes, hot shame creeping up his neck at his own reaction. “Yes, they are the emperor’s wives — but he has many others, over two hundred, and even more concubines.”

 

Soonyoung swears out loud in a language Seokmin doesn’t recognize. “Good gods, Seokmin,” he murmurs, and cups Seokmin’s cheek in one hand. “You will never experience that here. You are my one and only, dear heart — my eternity, do you understand?” He turns Seokmin’s face gently, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “You are prince consort, a full-fledged adoptive son of the Clans, and my  _ husband. _ Not a faceless concubine in a sea of others. Never.” He leans forward slightly, pressing a light kiss to Seokmin’s forehead. “Gods, Seokmin, I am so sorry.”

 

They stay in the private sitting room for the rest of the day. Soonyoung doesn’t demand that they have sex that night, just as he hadn’t every night on the way to the palace, and they fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

 

When Seokmin wakes the next morning, Soonyoung’s hand is loosely curled around his, the young king frowning in his sleep.

 

His face is innocent in sleep — he has round, almost chubby cheeks and a small mouth, contrasting sharply with the aura of power he projects when awake, seemingly subconsciously. His hair, long and a glossy dark blue-black colour, is escaping its loose braid to frame his face, and splays out on the pillow his head rests on.

 

Today, they will have the coronation ceremony — measurements for robes and crowns were sent ahead with the news of their coming, and the palace tailors have doubtless been working on the coronation robes since then.

 

Soonyoung stirs, reaching up with his free hand to scrub tiredly at his eyes. “Mm-min,” he murmurs, frowning. His lower lip juts out slightly — were he not a king, Seokmin would call the expression a pout. “S’it morning?”

 

“Yes, it’s morning,” Seokmin breathes, unwilling to disturb Soonyoung for some reason. “But it isn’t too late in the day yet.”

 

Soonyoung blinks his dark eyes open, still half-hidden behind his loosely curled fist, and smiles gently. His hand is warm where it’s curled around Seokmin’s. “G’ morning, Seokmin,” he says, his voice rough from sleep.

 

“Good morning.” And Seokmin can’t help the comfortable smile that spreads across his face, as though this was always where he was meant to be.

 

—

 

He meets his personal staff over his light breakfast. Minghao had come in to make sure he was dressed properly, in a creamy white robe embroidered with near invisible white designs and an ornately woven blue and indigo sash, and led him into his private reception room.

 

Junhui enters first, giving Seokmin a lopsided smile.

 

“Junhui, second son of the Wen-Lurinell Clan, is to be your personal secretary,” Minghao says, gesturing with his palm flat and pointed at Junhui. “He will accompany you to affairs of state, become your voice to the outside world if it is necessary, and organize your general affairs.”

 

“I am honoured to serve you, my prince,” Junhui says, kneeling. He bows, touching his forehead to the floor, and sits up quickly, rocking back to sit on his feet. “Thank you.”

 

Another young man enters, dressed in soft sky blue and faint smoky lavender. His hair is light brown and wavy, with curly bangs framing his face charmingly and highlighting his large hazel eyes.

 

“Hansol, fourth son of the Chwe-Almeri Clan, is to be your personal scribe and stenographer,” Minghao says. “He will assist you in the writing of letters, speeches, and other correspondence.”

 

Hansol bows in the same fashion as Junhui had, arranging himself neatly next to Junhui. “It’s an honour, Your Highness,” he says. He has a proud and aristocratic cast to his features, but his voice is earnest and gentle. “I hope to serve you to your satisfaction.”

 

Seokmin fidgets nervously as a third young man enters the room. This one is dressed in a blue so dark it is nearly black, with new-leaf green accents, and his silky black hair cascades unstyled down his back.

 

“And Seungcheol, first son of the Choi-Irielle Clan, will assist you as a personal servant and assistant,” Minghao says. “I will serve you in the same fashion — assisting with your wardrobe, your dress, bath, and jewellery, and ensuring your health at all times.”

 

Seungcheol bows, blinking up at Seokmin with huge, honest dark eyes. His eyelashes are long and thick, and his features have a melancholy sort of cast — which quickly disappears when he gives Seokmin a gummy smile, revealing straight white teeth and a set of dimples. “I hope to serve you well, Your Highness,” he says softly. “Thank you for accepting my service.”

 

“Thank you,” Seokmin says awkwardly, dipping his head in a semblance of a bow. “I… I hope to be worthy of your service.”

 

“Your coronation begins in two hours, and we’ll proceed to the formal presentation and banquet immediately after that,” Minghao goes on, pulling a scroll from an inner pocket of his robe. “My prince, do we have permission to assist you?”

 

And just like that, Seokmin is whisked back through the bedroom (empty of Soonyoung) and into the wardrobe, where Minghao and Seungcheol fuss over him for nearly an hour, draping yards and yards of rich silk around him.

 

“The coronation is to be held in the central temple, and there’s to be a formal procession there,” Seungcheol says, tucking a sash expertly around Seokmin’s waist. “From there, you and King Soonyoung will be transported back to the palace in a ceremonial palanquin and presented to the city, and then there’s the banquet.”

 

“A palan-what?” Seokmin asks awkwardly, and turns his head so that Minghao can hand a dangling gold and crystal drop from his earlobe.

 

“Palanquin,” Seungcheol enunciates, smiling. “A litter, a conveyance used for the highest ranking of our people.”

 

So many things to remember. Seokmin closes his eyes, frowning slightly as Minghao dabs a brush against his lips, tinting them pink.

 

“Here are your shoes,” Minghao says, placing them in front of Seokmin so that he can step into them himself. “That’s everything.”

 

Seokmin’s head feels oddly bare. Half of his hair has been twisted into a braided rose, studded with gems, but he’s become used to the weight of his circlet over the past days. To have it missing… it feels more uncomfortable than it should.

 

There are nearly a hundred people waiting in the main courtyard of the palace, robed in white and red and gold. A short young man wearing a veiled headdress steps forward, the chimes strung from the brim of his hat and the hems of his robes jingling musically.

 

“Dokyeom, husband of my King,” he says in a low voice, coloured with an accent that rises and falls musically. A thrill runs down Seokmin’s spine at the use of that name, though he doesn’t quite know why. “I am Jihoon, a Cantor of the Gods. I Sung your marriage and your divine Naming, and now I ask to Sing your coronation.”

 

He bows, and Seokmin dips his head in return. “I would be honoured,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

 

Jihoon bends his elbows so that his hands and forearms are parallel to the ground, palms up. “ _ Elwir li riao ilei Mierlong ling mywren, _ ” he intones. “The earth’s harmony Sings of your coming.”

 

Golden chimes begin ringing, and someone lights incense, passing a burning coal in a golden dish along the circle of people. The air fills with perfume, and Jihoon smiles behind his veil, turning halfway away from Seokmin. “Come,” he says. “The Song of your crown waits to be written.”

 

The song Jihoon sings as the procession makes its way through the streets is light and joyful, almost playful. Not something Seokmin would have associated with a coronation, but it seems fitting all the same. Chimes and stringed instruments provide accompaniment to the song, and every so often, Seokmin catches himself humming along.

 

The temple they halt in front of is a single-story building with a white roof, with the odd paper windows shared by nearly every building Seokmin has been in while in the capital. There are people spilling out of the doors, crowded around the entrance to try and see inside.

 

A gong rings, and the song halts. The people sweep aside, and Jihoon steps forward, gesturing Seokmin to follow.

 

“The stars and moon look on your coronation with favour,” Jihoon says, his voice melodic and soothing. “The sun and earth Sing of your glory, and our people will sing your praises in their halls for generations.”

 

Soonyoung is sitting at the entrance of the temple, dressed in crimson silk embroidered with gold, his head bare and hair studded with glimmering gems.

 

At a quiet push from Jihoon, Seokmin sits down in front of his husband. There’s a solemn air to this ceremony that their wedding hadn’t had, and it sends a chill through Seokmin.

 

Soonyoung’s hands are covered in golden rings and bracelets when he reaches out to grasp Seokmin’s hands in both of his, but the metal isn’t cold against Seokmin’s skin.

 

“Seokmin, seventh son of the Teluthion Empire, my husband.” Soonyoung’s voice is quiet, yet it feels as if it shakes the earth. “I have chosen you to share my crown. It is a heavy burden, and a lifelong one, but in my heart, I know that we can bear it together.”

 

Seokmin had been taught the ritual responses while they traveled, but his throat feels closed up and wrong when he tries to speak. “I accept my share of this burden,” he says, hating the way his voice cracks, “and I will do all in my power to comfort you in all the trials of kingship.”

 

Soonyoung smiles slightly, just enough to reassure Seokmin. “Seokmin, my eternity and only, new and honoured son of the Kwon-Aerien clan. I hereby name you my consort, King, and confidant, my companion in long nights and the most precious treasure of my house. You are my equal, second to none, and I shall always treat you as such.” Soonyoung’s voice is earnest and solemn, and his eyes glimmer with an emotion Seokmin can’t name. “No war or strife shall come between us, nor shall another force take your place. This is my vow to you, my king, as your loyal subject.”

 

Tears well up in Seokmin’s eyes, and he bows his head to try and blot them away with the sleeve of his robe. Soonyoung squeezes his hands comfortingly, and Seokmin can swear that he sees a glint of tears in his eyes, too.

 

“Soonyoung, my eternity and only,” Seokmin murmurs. “I accept you as my consort, King, and confidant. I will keep you company in long nights, and treasure you as you treasure me. You are my equal, second to none, and I shall always treat you as such.” He meets Soonyoung’s gaze, his voice trembling, but he pushes forward without halting. “No war or strife shall come between us, nor shall another force take your place. This is my vow to you, my king, as your loyal subject.”

 

My eternity and only. Such a simple phrase, but one that holds so much meaning in the clans; the ultimate declaration of devotion, the promise of unending care and love.

 

It had felt almost shallow, using it in an arranged marriage, one meant only to halt a war, but kneeling on the temple floor and looking into Soonyoung’s eyes, Seokmin can’t help but feel that perhaps, he and Soonyoung will be able to fulfil the promise given in that simple phrase.

 

Soonyoung rises, helping Seokmin to his feet, and leads him to the altar that stands at the other end of the temple. Jihoon is singing again, bright and joyful, and other people inside the temple are joining him.

 

On the altar, two crowns rest, elaborate creations of gold and silver. Countless gems shine in the sunlight that illuminates the temple, and the stone of the altar seems to glow with the reflected colour.

 

An old, old man is waiting for them, sitting behind the altar with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Seokmin and Soonyoung bow to him, kneeling down to place themselves on his level.

 

The song goes silent, and for a moment, the only sound in the temple is the quiet clinking of censers as they’re swung back and forth, sending clouds of fragrant incense into the air.

 

“Grandfather,” Soonyoung says, bowing his head. “I have come to claim my birthright.”

 

The old man stirs, looking at them with sharp eyes. His gaze lingers on Seokmin, bright and calculating, and Seokmin squirms nervously and casts his gaze away.

 

“Are you truly prepared to take your crown?” the old man asks. “This is not a burden to be bestowed lightly, my prince.”

 

Soonyoung nods, and his hand tightens around Seokmin’s. His hand is trembling and a little clammy, and Seokmin squeezes back, trying to give Soonyoung even a modicum of comfort. “I am. I have led my people under your regency and guidance for ten of my twenty-two years, fought on their behalf, and sacrificed much for them.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. “I am prepared.”

 

Ten years? Seokmin’s head reels at the notion of a twelve-year-old Soonyoung leading a nation already, even with a regent to guide him. Surely there must have been some great tragedy to put him on the throne that early…

 

Oh. Seokmin’s chest tightens with guilt; he remembers being eleven summers old and cheering for a group of returning soldiers, battered and bloodstained, celebrating a great victory over the savage clans. His people had killed Soonyoung’s father.

 

“Show us the proof of your devotion,” the old man says gently. “If you cannot, I cannot give you this crown.”

 

Soonyoung exhales a shaky breath and turns to Seokmin. “My prince,” he says quietly, “will you help me?” His hand tugs at the neckline of his robe, shaking and pale.

 

Hesitantly, Seokmin reaches out to help him push the folds of his robes down over his left shoulder, revealing an expanse of warm skin.

 

A silvery scar mars the perfect tan of Soonyoung’s flesh, something that Seokmin hadn’t been able to see in the dimness of their tent on their wedding night, or maybe something he purposely ignored. It looks like it had been made with a jagged, vicious blade, and closed with hasty, messy cauterizing on the battlefield. Perhaps it had been neatly stitched up later, but it is still a horrible, jagged scar.

 

Seokmin closes his eyes, turning away. His father’s people,  _ his subjects _ , had made that scar. He might as well have cut Soonyoung’s body open himself.

 

“This scar was given to me by a soldier following the orders of a king plagued by the sins of his ancestors,” Soonyoung says, his voice stable and surprisingly gentle. “I seared it closed myself and kept fighting to protect my people. And when an offer of peace came, although it would mean allying myself with the king who ordered me killed and the country who had slain many of my people, I took it.”

 

He squeezes Seokmin’s hand, hitches his robe back up over his shoulder. “I hold no grudge against the king or country,” he says. He cups Seokmin’s cheek in his hand, turning Seokmin’s face so that he can look into his eyes. “And I pledge to give my husband and fellow king all of the devotion and love I will give my country and people, regardless of his people’s past transgressions. I will forgive all their sins in the name of peace.”

 

The tears Seokmin had been desperately trying to hold back spill out with a strangled sob. He bows his head, covering his face with the hand Soonyoung doesn’t have a gentle grip on, and sobs loud enough for the entire temple to hear.

 

What had Soonyoung done to remain so forgiving? He had been on the front lines of battle from such a young age, a firsthand witness to the horrors of war. His own father had been taken from him by Seokmin’s people!

 

Yet here he sits, wiping the tears from Seokmin’s face with the sleeves of his own robe. His face is still pale, and his hands tremble, but he pays no mind to that, instead whispering comforting words to Seokmin and holding his hand delicately.

 

“Never has a man been more worthy of the crown I bestow on you,” the old man says gently. “My prince, may you rule long and well. Do you count your husband as one worthy of the crown you will share?”

 

“Look at him,” Soonyoung says, his voice raw. Seokmin shies away, trying to hide behind his sleeves, but Soonyoung lowers his arms with a gentle hand. “He weeps for a people who are not his own, for horrors and pain he had no part in causing. Does this not speak of his virtue? Does this not display his endless compassion and loving heart?”

 

Seokmin sobs harder, overwhelmed. The way Soonyoung speaks of him is admiring and awed, nothing Seokmin deserves.

 

“It does,” the old man acquiesces. “Children, I give you the blessings of all the Clans of Marae. May you lead them in wisdom, compassion, and peace.”

 

He lifts one of the crowns and passes it to Soonyoung, settling it carefully in the king’s hands. Seokmin misses the warmth of Soonyoung’s hand immediately, and he curls his hands into fists, choking back another sob.

 

With his head bowed, he doesn’t see Soonyoung raising his hands until the weight of the crown settles on his head. He lifts his head, surprised — he had expected Soonyoung to receive the crown first, yet Soonyoung is smiling, carefully settling the crown on Seokmin’s head while his own remains bare.

 

“My eternity and only,” Soonyoung says quietly. “I crown you as my king and the leader of my beloved people. May our reign be joyful and long, and bring peace and prosperity to our land.”

 

The other crown is set into Seokmin’s hands, and he cautiously lifts it, testing the weight.

 

Soonyoung bows his head, closing his eyes with a slight smile. Carefully, Seokmin settles the crown onto Soonyoung’s head, holding his breath until he can let go of the crown.

 

“My eternity and only, I crown you as my king,” he murmurs. “May our reign be joyful and long, and bring peace and prosperity to our land.”

 

Were this an imperial coronation, if Seokmin was to be emperor of Teluthion, Soonyoung would only be named king consort. Here, however, Soonyoung has named Seokmin his fellow king. There is no sense of inferiority, no lesser title — Seokmin is to be Soonyoung’s equal.

 

Soonyoung presses a kiss to Seokmin’s knuckles, smiling. Tears glimmer in his eyes, threatening to set Seokmin off again, but Soonyoung is glowing, radiant.

 

“My king,” Soonyoung whispers as a cacophony of cheers fills the temple and spreads outside until the whole city rings with cheering. “My heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is the plural of roof not rooves
> 
> also idk if this still counts as light angst??? i got carried away and things are suddenly very sad


	8. VIII: Soonyoung

The rest of their coronation day passes quickly. Soonyoung, sprawled in their bed and only half sober, doesn’t bother to remember most of it, besides Seokmin’s laugh and smile, the earnest shine of his eyes as he bowed to Soonyoung’s clan representatives, and the warmth of Seokmin’s hand in his.

 

Seokmin is in the bathroom, and Soonyoung can hear him singing quietly. Warmth spreads in his chest — Seokmin has a beautiful voice, fit for a Cantor.

 

Perhaps one day, Seokmin will sing for him, but for now, Soonyoung is content with snatches of song overheard in passing. Jeonghan’s words still ring in his head — a tender soul, soft-hearted, easily hurt… still such a young man.

 

Even with his senses fogged by alcohol — there had been so many toasts and well-wishes at the celebratory banquet, and it would have been impolite to refuse the drinks he was offered — Soonyoung knows that he would do anything to protect Seokmin from harm. Perhaps it is blind devotion to duty, perhaps it is something deeper, perhaps the grace of state granted by marriage. But no matter what it is, Soonyoung has never felt so right.

 

Seokmin climbs into their bed, his hair tied up in a tight knot, still damp and fragrant from his bath. Struck by a sudden impulse, Soonyoung sits up, reaching across to grasp Seokmin’s hand lightly.

 

“Will you… will you let me hold you?” he asks quietly.

 

His wish is not granted. Seokmin turns his head away and bites his lip, his hand trembling in Soonyoung’s. “I… if it pleases Your Majesty, I would rather not,” he says, his voice trembling. The confidence the ceremonies had lent him is gone, replaced by shyness and fear that Soonyoung longs to erase. “I am still… still getting used to this, and I am tired.”

 

“My heart,” Soonyoung says gently, releasing Seokmin’s hand. “You don’t need an excuse.” He hesitates, his hand curling into the blankets as he considers. “I will let you sleep.”

 

He understands Seokmin’s hesitation. The wedding and coronation ceremonies were predictable, scripted. There was no fear of rejection or hurt there, only the call and response of ancient words and vows. Outside of the temples and the Plains, though, Seokmin could be hurt or cast aside at any second. Soonyoung’s blood still boils at the thought of Seokmin becoming an unloved concubine, at the thought that Seokmin thought himself unworthy of anything but that.

 

Seokmin gives a shaky smile and curls into a ball, tugging the blankets over himself. Unwilling to disturb him, Soonyoung turns over so that he faces away from Seokmin, his heart aching in his chest.

 

“Your Majesty,” Seokmin says quietly after a long moment. “I am glad that you are my husband.” He draws in a trembling breath, hesitating. “I… had been expecting much worse. Thank you.”

 

“Anything for you,” Soonyoung replies. He rolls over, fixing his gaze on Seokmin’s back with a slight smile. “I hope that you feel more at home here soon.”

 

He closes his eyes and pretends that he can’t hear Seokmin sobbing long into the night.

 

They will be pressured for an heir in a short while, he knows, but Soonyoung would never dream of forcing Seokmin to bear or sire a child for a man he barely knows. Other men would have no qualms — surely the emperor of Seokmin’s home nation wouldn’t hesitate to force a child on one of his wives; Seokmin’s admission that he had been expecting much worse all but confirms that. Soonyoung’s face twists in disgust at the very thought.

 

The wedding band — a tradition gladly adopted from Seokmin’s homeland — weighs heavy on Soonyoung’s finger, a reminder of the vows he made. Pressing the ring to his lips, he silently makes another vow on the golden band; until Seokmin is well and truly at home in Marae, until he is happy and content as a son of the Clans, Soonyoung will never force him into anything. He will not subject Seokmin to childbirth, siring a child, or any court machinations, until Seokmin is ready.

 

—

 

The next day, they are woken at the same time, brought to their sitting room so that Minghao and Jisoo can brief them on the day’s events.

 

Today they will begin their ceremonial tour of the Clans, visiting each clan’s grand hall and spending a moon cycle with each, officiating ceremonies and blessings for the clans. The first, naturally, will be Soonyoung’s home clan, and now Seokmin’s, whose hall is located a mere two days’ ride from the capital. As the currently reigning royal family, the Kwon family of the Aerien clan has produced the kings of Marae for nearly seven generations, and unless they produce no worthy heirs, will continue to do so for many more to come.

 

The chief ceremony they will have to perform there is the midsummer festival, Jisoo explains to Seokmin, who nods solemnly, an earnest expression on his face. The festival is held on the night of the summer’s second full moon, and it’s said to be one of the six times of the year the gods and spirits are closest to man.

 

“What are the others?” Seokmin asks curiously, and Soonyoung smiles at his enthusiasm.

 

“Wintermoon, the third new moon of winter,” he recites, counting on his fingers. “The autumn and spring equinoxes, and the solstices. There are other, lesser holidays throughout the year, but these are the most important to our people.”

 

Minghao and another servant, who introduces himself as Seungcheol, help them dress for the day, in simple traveling clothes. Now that they’re married, they wear inner robes of purest white lined with gold, and Minghao expertly ties their sashes into an elaborate knot at the back, adorned with golden charms.

 

Soonyoung ties his own hair back into a half ponytail, and Seokmin’s hair is half braided and curled into a rose shape, pinned with a pale blue gem in the centre.

 

Their everyday crowns are simple bands of gold, adorned with the moon and sunburst of Soonyoung’s clan and studded with faint pink and blue diamonds. A gold-tinted sun diamond hangs from Seokmin’s crown, dangling down to rest just above his eyebrows, and Soonyoung’s is set with a silvery moon diamond in the centre of the sunburst.

 

“You’ll be accompanied by the core members of your personal staff,” Jisoo says as they make their way to the front courtyard. “Wonwoo, as your closest friend and High Speaker, and Jihoon will be coming as well.”

 

Soonyoung nods, committing the information to memory. “Will we be in the mountains over next year’s summer, or will we be present for their winter festivals?” he asks, frowning. The mountains would be cooler in the summer, but their winter celebrations were more elaborate and festive than any other in Marae; he can’t decide which he would rather show Seokmin.

 

“High Priest Seokjin of the Kim-Morlian clan has requested that you attend their Wintermoon festival,” Jisoo replies, smiling. “I took the liberty of informing him that you would arrive in the Zhyreil Mountains at the beginning of the moon cycle.”

 

Seokmin looks uneasy, tugging his sleeves over his hands as they wait in the courtyard. Soonyoung, almost automatically, reaches out to twine his fingers between Seokmin’s, and the younger man flinches slightly before his hand goes limp.

 

On Seokmin’s other side, Soonyoung can see Jeonghan, his hand curling and flexing under the long sleeves of his pale purple robe, as if longing to hold Seokmin’s hand and give him comfort.

 

“Our kings now depart,” Jisoo announces. “In presenting themselves and their bond to each clan, we pray that their bond of marriage will deepen, forging a union so strong as to stand all the tests of time or strife.”

 

Their carriage door is opened; this ceremonial carriage was built specially for their visitation of the Clans, and it will be their transportation across Marae for the entirety of their journey. Their staff will follow in other carriages or on the backs of horses.

 

Soonyoung helps Seokmin in, offering his arm to lean on, and tucks his husband’s robes out of the way of the door before climbing in himself.

 

“Seokmin,” he murmurs quietly as the carriage starts moving, reaching out to hold Seokmin’s hands in his. “I… I know that you are scared.” His husband winces involuntarily, and Soonyoung’s heart clenches painfully at that. Gods, how he wishes that Seokmin could be with him without fear, without always anticipating hurt. “I spoke with Jeonghan about it. I want you to know… I will always be there for you, my angel.”

 

Carefully, he drops a kiss on Seokmin’s knuckles, feather-light and shy, the barest brush of his lips on the soft skin of Seokmin’s hands. “I swear, I will never, _ever_ even dream of hurting you.”

 

Seokmin gives him a wobbly smile, untold pain in his expressive brown eyes. He doesn’t speak for a bit, taking stabilizing breaths, and Soonyoung finds himself holding his breath in anticipation.

 

“My king,” Seokmin murmurs, “I wish I could believe you.”

 

Soonyoung’s heart shatters like spun glass.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Seokmin hurries to say, squeezing Soonyoung’s hands. “I just…” Tears well up in those beautiful eyes, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as though willing himself not to cry.

 

“It’s hard,” he chokes out. “It’s… it’s so hard. I don’t even know you, Your Majesty. I don’t… I don’t know you, but I have already given you my body, my life, everything. I can’t — I can’t yet give you my trust.”

 

Soonyoung closes his eyes, willing himself not to tear up. His throat aches from suppressing tears, but… no secrets, he remembers. He swore an oath to the gods, nearly a month ago, at the commencement of their wedding ceremonies, and he intends to keep it.

 

So he allows himself to cry, bowing his head until his forehead touches Seokmin’s knuckles.

 

One of Seokmin’s hands wriggles free, coming up to pet Soonyoung’s hair soothingly. “I’m sorry,” Seokmin hiccups. “I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to be your husband, and all I’ve done is hurt you.”

 

Soonyoung shakes his head, a fresh wave of tears filling his eyes. “No, no,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “I’m all right, my heart…” He screws his eyes shut, forcing tears to drip down his face. “I only want you to feel safe… it pains me to know that you are still afraid, still hurting… I wish I could help you.”

 

He blots at his tears with one sleeve, taking a deep breath to centre himself. “We don’t… by law, we’re married, but we don’t have to act like that yet,” he offers. “No… no expectations, nothing.”

 

Seokmin hesitates briefly, the air in the carriage thick with tension.

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he murmurs, and the tension dissipates like morning fog. “I would like that very much.”

 

Soonyoung forces a smile, scrubbing the remainder of his tears away. “Then let’s begin again,” he says gently. “To start… please call me Soonyoung. All my friends do.”

 

Seokmin’s smile is wobbly, but bright. “As you wish, Soonyoung…” He blushes faintly, and blinks the last few tears out of his eyes. “I look forward to being your friend.”

 

At Seokmin’s simple words, Soonyoung’s heart soars. Seokmin will miss the empire, that much he knows — but perhaps the clans will feel more homelike without the pressure of acting as a king’s husband all the time.

 

And perhaps one day, Seokmin will be comfortable enough to call Soonyoung his husband without fear of rejection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shiitake mushrooms jhopefulyoongi left kudos on this and bookmarked it im screaming


	9. IX: Seokmin

The Aerien clan’s home is located on the bright plains near the capital city, a city in its own right. Acres of farmland stretch out around the clan halls, and the halls themselves are gorgeous structures of dark wood and bright stone.

 

Soonyoung looks thrilled to be there, smiling brightly as the carriage rumbles through the streets of the city and looking around fondly.

 

“I was raised here,” he says softly, sunlight reflecting off his soft amber eyes. “One of my cousins is the head of the clan now, and a High Speaker, too.”

 

Seokmin nods, watching the city pass by. “It’s beautiful,” he offers. Friends. Just friends. Not husbands, or lovers. No expectations. “Were you close with your cousins?”

 

Soonyoung laughs, bright and deep. “You have to be, growing up in a clan,” he chuckles, fondness in his voice. “My cousin, Jimin, he’s one of the nicest people I know, and we would always get up to so much trouble as kids! He’s only a year older than me, too.” His chuckles abate slightly, and his smile turns nostalgic. “I never expected him to end up a Speaker, let alone High Speaker, but the spirits work in mysterious ways.”

 

“What’s… what’s the exact difference between a Speaker and a priest?” Seokmin asks, frowning slightly. He had noticed the distinction long ago, but there was never a proper time to ask.

 

Soonyoung lights up at the question, though, and sits up straighter. “A Speaker is tied to the spirits,” he begins, lifting one finger. “In our faith, the spirits are the servants of the gods, in between gods and men. They are more numerous than the gods, and more… grounded, I suppose. More of the physical world than the ethereal. A Speaker communes with the spirits, exerts control over the physical, and works the will of nature and life.” He lifts another finger, as if counting. “And the priests serve the gods directly. A Speaker may be more tied to the earth, its ebb, flow, and the harmony that runs through all living things, but a priest is attuned to the sky, the divine. The will of the gods themselves.”

 

He smiles, reaching out to touch Seokmin’s breast. “We, as kings, are seen as the perfect harmony. Your blessing as son of the moon and sun ties you to the gods; the title of son of the waters harkens to the spirits. In the same way, I am the blessed son of the stars, the gods, and the earth, the spirits.” He touches his own breast, covered by the pure white and smoky grey of his robes. “We are the uniting force.”

 

Seokmin’s breath hitches in his throat, taken aback at the sheer faith in Soonyoung’s voice. “Then — what do we have to do? Surely we have spiritual duties of some kind, right?”

  
  
Soonyoung nods, his smile widening. His eyes curve into thin lines when he smiles like this, little crescent moons. “That’s what we’re doing now. We help with the festivities and ceremonies the first year or so, and usually, we at least travel to our home clan during the major holy days.”

 

The carriage halts, and the door is swung open. Soonyoung alights first, offering his hand to help Seokmin climb down.

 

There’s a short, slender man waiting for them, dressed in forest green robes with gold lining, and a pendant with the same emblem that decorates their crowns hangs around his neck. Gold is woven into his hair, which is a startling pale pink and half tied in a plait over the crown of his head, and he holds a polished staff of gnarled wood adorned with a raw crystal.

 

He opens his arms, smiling broadly, and Soonyoung charges into them.

 

“Jimin,” Soonyoung murmurs, and Seokmin gives the man a small smile. This, then, is the clan leader, Soonyoung’s cousin.

 

“It’s an honour to meet you,” he says, bowing deeply like his attendants in the empire had taught him.  _ Be respectful, especially to your in-laws. Honour and glory are born of quiet and respect. _ “Soonyoung — I mean, His Majesty spoke quite highly of you.”

 

Jimin dislodges Soonyoung from himself, giving Seokmin a calculating glance that just as quickly transforms into a warm smile that turns his eyes into thin slits. The family resemblance, Seokmin decides, is uncanny.

 

“Welcome home,” Jimin says, and surges forward to envelop Seokmin in a warm hug, tucking his head neatly against Seokmin’s shoulder. He’s stronger than his thin physique suggests, and his embrace is firm and nearly loving. “It’s an honour to have you with us.”

 

—

 

The rooms designated for Seokmin and Soonyoung are on the second floor of the grand hall, looking out over the expansive gardens that surround the clan’s dwelling.

 

“These were my rooms when I was a very small child,” Soonyoung says quietly, trailing his fingers over the doorframe. “Until I was removed to the palace in the capital to learn how to be king.”

 

“How old were you then?” Seokmin asks, frozen by the huge window. It has coloured glass inlaid in bright patterns around the opening, and the scroll of silk above the window is painted in the same vivid colours.

 

Soonyoung frowns as he drifts across the room, casting his gaze around with a wistful look. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Thirteen winters? Maybe a little younger, or a little older. I don’t quite remember.” He smiles wryly, bitter and sad, but it only lasts for a second. “A prince doesn’t have much time to be a child, even here in the Clans, but I was more fortunate than some.”

 

Seokmin nods silently, struck by the truth of that statement. His childhood had consisted of years of lessons, scolding, and the moments he could spend away from his duties were few and far between, even as the seventh prince.

 

Soonyoung shakes his head, a smile replacing his grim look. “Let me show you the gardens,” he suggests. “And I can show you where we’ll be holding the midsummer ceremony, too.”

 

A knock on their door halts them, and a tall, slender young man steps just inside the room. “Majesties,” he greets, his voice solemn as he bows deeply. He has black hair that falls just past his shoulders, high cheekbones and a small mouth. “King Hoshi, if it please you, your lord cousin wishes to see you and discuss the upcoming festival.” His narrow, sharp eyes cut to Seokmin, and then back to Soonyoung. “And King Dokyeom’s presence is requested at the Pavilion of Song.”

 

“Now, Taekwoon?” Soonyoung asks, weariness in his voice. “I was just about to show Seokmin around.”

 

The man bows again, his expression unchanging. “Now, Your Majesty. Your cousin was very firm, I’m afraid. He would like to meet you in the oak grove.”

 

Soonyoung frowns, raking a hand through his bangs, and turns to Seokmin. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds genuinely apologetic. “I promise I’ll show you around as soon as possible, all right?”

 

Seokmin nods, twisting his fingers inside the sleeves of his robes. “Go,” he says. He musters a smile, though it feels hollow. “You have duties to attend to.”

 

Soonyoung hesitates for a moment, chewing his bottom lip, then snatches up Seokmin’s hand to press a hasty kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll be back,” he murmurs, and hurries out in a swirl of robes.

 

Taekwoon steps aside slightly to allow Soonyoung out, and fixes his gaze on Seokmin. His hair is half pulled back in a low ponytail, and he’s wearing simple robes of red and grey silk. “Your Majesty,” he says, his voice soft. “I am to escort you to the Pavilion. If you would follow me…”

 

He leads Seokmin through the lofty corridors of the Hall, past beautiful paintings and murals that Seokmin hadn’t noticed before, and out through the elaborate gardens.

 

The pavilion he stops at, bowing to gesture Seokmin in, is a large, open structure with no walls, only a roof, where four unfamiliar men in beautiful silk robes are waiting.

 

Jeonghan is there too, looking supremely nervous, and so is Jihoon, dressed in pure white robes and a wide-brimmed hat made of black mesh, and silver chimes dangle from a simple leather cord around his neck.

 

Jeonghan is wearing robes in the style of the Clans, made of soft pale green, dark blue, and gold silk, and he looks astoundingly uncomfortable in them, fidgeting nervously with the sash and hem. Privately, Seokmin thinks that the robes suit him.

 

The first of the unfamiliar men stands up and bows his head slightly, smiling. “It’s an honour to have you here, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice rumbling and deep. “I am Wonshik, Lord Jimin’s husband and your cousin by marriage. Come sit down, please.”

 

The others are introduced; Baekhyun, the Aerien Clan’s leading Cantor, dressed in the same white robes, hat, and chimes as Jihoon. Taeyong, the High Priest of the Aerien Clan, dressed in rich blue, purple and silver robes, a diamond medallion around his neck. Yoongi, the High Speaker in charge of the midsummer festival, clothed in forest green, pale leaf green, and gold, with a staff much like Jimin’s across his lap.

 

“We won’t stand on ceremony here,” Yoongi says. His voice is rough and deep, with a pronounced drawl, but oddly soothing. “We have to teach you everything we can about the midsummer festival, and I won’t do that while constantly bowing and scraping.”

 

“Yoongi,” Taeyong hisses, looking frightened by the man’s blunt words. “You are speaking to your king.”

 

“It’s fine, it really is,” Seokmin hurries to say. “I don’t mind.” In fact, the Speaker’s casual attitude helps him feel more at ease; more reminiscent of his tutors and governesses in the Empire than anything else.

 

“Good,” Yoongi says, and smiles slightly. “Then let’s begin. Wonshik, if you will.”

 

Wonshik pulls a scroll of silk paper out of his sleeve, unrolling it onto the low table. It’s covered in elaborate calligraphy that Seokmin can’t read, his head spinning when he tries to decipher it.

 

“What does that say?” Jeonghan asks, leaning closer and squinting at the paper.

 

“It’s the instructions for the festival,” Wonshik explains calmly. “I wouldn’t expect you to be able to read it — it’s written in the Old Tongue, even I can only read some of it.”

 

“Old Maraein is only taught to priests, Speakers, and Cantors,” Baekhyun puts in, trailing a delicate finger over the lines of one of the characters. “Anyone can, theoretically, learn it, but only we really bother.”

 

Seokmin nods, frowning at the silk scroll. “I understand,” he says quietly. “And kings… do they learn this language too?”

 

Baekhyun smiles, folding his hands neatly. “It’s encouraged, yes. But you don’t have to — your husband knows enough to get the both of you by.”

 

Wonshik clears his throat, and Taeyong leans forward to read from the paper.

 

—

 

At the end of the day, Seokmin is waiting in their room for Soonyoung, twisting his hands together idly. There isn’t much for him to do with his hands here, and to be honest, he was never really taught anything in the first place.

 

The door opens soundlessly, and Soonyoung steps in, muddy and worn-looking with his hair half falling out of the braid he’d put it in. He halts just inside the room, and a soft, sleepy smile grows on his face. Warmth blooms in Seokmin’s chest at the sight, though he can’t quite pinpoint why.

 

“Good evening, my heart,” Soonyoung murmurs. “I hope Wonshik wasn’t too rough with you.”

 

Seokmin shakes his head, smiling. “No, it was fine,” he says. And it had been — he’d learned a lot, not just about the midsummer festival, but about the culture of the Clans. Yoongi had kept his promise of staying casual, making everything sink into Seokmin’s head that much more easily. “But I… I had a question. For you.”

 

Soonyoung halts halfway through undoing the belt of his robe, turning his whole attention to Seokmin. “Is everything all right?”

 

Seokmin swallows hard, bites down on his lower lip. “Yes, I think so. I just…” He takes a deep breath, but can’t make himself meet Soonyoung’s eyes. “The midsummer festival. It’s a fertility celebration, yes?”

 

“It is,” Soonyoung says slowly. His hands drop from his sash, and he eases himself down to sit on the bed next to Seokmin. “And?” His hand covers Seokmin’s, warm and comforting.

 

Here he goes; Seokmin looks down and away, his face burning with embarrassment. “Wonshik, Lord Jimin’s husband, told me that it’s — it’s traditional for married couples to, um… copulate. During the festival.”

 

“It is,” Soonyoung confirms, the concerned frown still evident just from his tone. “We don’t have to partake in that aspect of the ceremony if you don’t want to.”

 

Seokmin almost agrees, almost falls for Soonyoung’s sweet voice. It’s comforting, soft, and sincere, everything that he associates with Soonyoung, the young man he promised to love.

 

But he can hear the voices of his tutors clamouring in his head, scolding him. Hoshi, leader of the Clans and the king to whom he pledged service, will need an heir, and it is Seokmin’s duty to provide one for him, regardless of his own personal feelings.

 

So he gulps down his fear and trepidation, turns his palm upright to lace his fingers between Soonyoung’s, and peeks up at his king through his eyelashes. “I would like to,” he says, and prays that the weakness of his voice can be attributed to his natural shyness.


	10. X: Soonyoung

The days before the festival’s commencement fly by. Soonyoung brings Seokmin to his favourite childhood haunts — the hidden swimming lake in the nearby woods, the big oak tree he and Jimin had spent hours climbing over and around, and so many more.

 

He sees Seokmin’s genuine smile and hears his laugh when Soonyoung falls into the lake, his arms flailing comically, and it fills him with so much joy that he makes a grand show of stumbling and splashing about, then falling right back into the shallow water.

 

And yet every night, when they return to their shared bedroom, Seokmin seems to wilt, like the morning glories that bloom every morning, only to turn to shriveled, limp and colourless husks by evening. He goes silent, refuses to meet Soonyoung’s eyes, and looks at their shared bed with poorly concealed trepidation.

 

But Soonyoung can never find a way to breach the subject, and Seokmin has been taught his entire life to submit, to follow, and so he isn’t able to speak up about whatever issues plague him. Guilt roils in Soonyoung’s gut, bitter and painful, and yet something always manages to stop him each time he tries to bring it up with his husband.

 

The day of the first festival dawns bright and sunny, promising hot weather ahead. A blessing, the speakers would say, but Soonyoung rolls over and groans loudly, dreading the heat.

 

Trumpets blare cheerfully outside, announcing the beginning of the thirteen-day festivals, and someone knocks sharply on their bedroom door.

 

“Your Majesties,” Jimin’s voice sing-songs, much too bright for how early in the morning it is. “Wake up! You have very important things to do today!”

 

“Go jump in a lake,” Soonyoung retorts weakly, his voice rough and rasping against his throat. He groans and falls back against his pillow, throwing one arm over his face.

 

“I’ve already had my bath, thank you,” Jimin says, giggling. “Come on out, Soonie, you and your dear husband have to perform the opening ceremonies in a few hours!”

 

Seokmin sits up, squinting blearily, and rakes a hand through his hair. “Bath,” he croaks, pouting ever so slightly. “Can… can I take a bath?”

 

“Of course you may,” Soonyoung assures him. “I’ll fetch Minghao and Seungcheol for you so they can draw a bath for you, and bring you your breakfast.” He combs Seokmin’s hair down gently, smiling as Seokmin, unguarded from sleep, pushes slightly into his hand.

 

Seokmin’s eyes flutter closed, and he smiles softly as Soonyoung strokes his hair. “Mm. You should likely hurry, if we want to start the festival on time.”

 

Reluctantly, Soonyoung pulls away and stands up, leaving Seokmin blinking tiredly on the bed as he makes for their attendants’ rooms. They have an important duty to fulfill, and if their first ceremony as husbands goes awry, there will be hell to pay from Jisoo.

 

They bathe, and Soonyoung allows Hakyeon and Taekwoon to dress him as Minghao and Seungcheol attend Seokmin. They’re clothed in pure white robes, with new-leaf green sashes around their waists and garlands of pink and white flowers draped over their shoulders and atop their heads.

 

Soonyoung doesn’t miss the pained wince on Seokmin’s face as the garland settles around his neck.

 

Yellow roses are tucked into their matching hairstyles, elaborate curls and braids of hair studded with tiny diamonds, and Soonyoung is given the circlet he crafted for Seokmin. Carefully, he lifts the crown of roses from Seokmin’s head and replaces it with the silver band, laying a gentle kiss on the skin just below the lowest point of the star.

 

“You’ll do well,” he murmurs, resettling the flower crown above the circlet on Seokmin’s head, arranging the blossoms so that the moon diamond shines from a frame of flowers. He smiles softly, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Seokmin’s ear, which flushes pink as Seokmin blushes. “I promise.”

 

“Thank you,” Seokmin whispers, and the sunlight streaming through the stained glass makes him look like a god of summer; ethereal, otherworldly and kind.

 

There’s a procession to the festival grounds, of course. Jimin leads the way, followed by Yoongi and Wonwoo, all in ceremonial robes of green and airy blue, gnarled staffs in their hands. Jimin wears the medallion of the Aerien clan around his neck as well, and it gleams in the midsummer sun.

 

When they halt, Soonyoung finds himself breathless. The festival grounds have been refinished in the ten years he spent in the capital, gleaming with fresh white marble and silver stone, and every spare inch is draped in frothy roses.

 

Jimin strides forward to the centre of the pavilion, and thumps his staff against the ground once.

 

Everything goes silent, save for the soft clinking of silver censers, filled not with incense now, but bundles of flowers soaked in fragrant oils.

 

“May the Heavens bless us and the Spirits look upon us with love, for this summer’s day is joyful and holy,” Jimin calls, his voice melodic and sweet. “On this blessed day of the full sun, we look on the first ceremony officiated by our newly crowned Kings, our own kin and brothers, born from and consecrated by the royal clan that has given us our kings for nigh eighty passings of the seasons.”

 

Soonyoung tugs Seokmin forward gently, his heart swelling with pride and love. The summer sun casts Seokmin in a beautiful glow, filtering through his dark hair and illuminating it from within with golden light. Like this, he reminds Soonyoung of the first time he laid eyes on his husband, by the banks of the great river of the Plains.

 

Yoongi steps forward, holding a silver dish heaped with seeds in the palm of his cupped right hand. “Noble king, chosen by the stars and earth, plant the seeds of prosperity,” he commands gently. “May your clan and kingdom flourish as these blades of wheat, giving life and health to all who partake of the harvest and rely on your guidance.”

 

Soonyoung dips his hand into the dish and steps forward, keenly aware of the multitude of eyes on him. With a smooth motion, he scatters the seeds in a wide arc so that they land in the circle of newly turned earth in the centre of the pavilion, bright gold against the nearly black soil.

 

Yoongi turns to Seokmin, the raw crystal embedded in the head of his staff glinting faintly in the sunlight. “Far-traveler and king, chosen by the sun, moon, and sea, turn the earth over the seeds your husband has scattered,” he says quietly. “As the seeds are planted, they require also a loving hand to nurture them and ensure that they take root.”

 

Seokmin crouches slowly, his robes pooling around him in a bright puddle. Soonyoung watches, captivated, as Seokmin’s delicate hands scoop up and smooth the earth over the seeds, staining his hands dark brown.

 

Taeyong steps forward as Seokmin stands, holding a gold bowl of water. Silently, he helps Seokmin wash his hands, then presents the bowl to Soonyoung. “My king, appointed and blessed by the gods, please nourish these seeds,” he says, and Soonyoung silently accepts the bowl, emptying it over the disc of earth.

 

As if scripted, a cloud drifts away from the sun, and a single bright ray falls perfectly on the soaked earth, illuminating it like a benediction.

 

“The gods have accepted your offering,” Jimin declares. “May your reign be bright and fruitful, my kings.”

 

The assembly erupts into cheers, and Soonyoung loops an arm around Seokmin’s waist, smiling.

 

He smells like roses and fresh earth; like summer.

 

—

 

The next part of the festival is to be considerably less ceremonial; they’re led to a large open field where a small orchestra waits, and Jimin smiles as he gestures for the musicians to begin.

 

“It’s said to be lucky to dance with a boy on the first day of the festival,” Soonyoung explains to Seokmin. “Traditionally, it grants you a year of luck, especially when it comes to love.”

 

An odd sort of glint enters Seokmin’s eyes, and he looks for a moment as though he might cry before he turns to Soonyoung. “Then what are we waiting for?” he says, with perhaps forced joviality.

 

Before Soonyoung can question it, however, Seokmin is grinning brightly and grasping his wrist, tugging him out to the centre of the field.

 

Golden sunlight illuminates his tan skin and dark hair as he tugs Soonyoung along, laughing at Soonyoung’s expression as though there is nothing wrong with the world. Pulled into a wide spin, Soonyoung is taken off guard by the déjà vu of the sight, but Seokmin is laughing and twirling him like a spinning top, and he can’t bring himself to question it.

 

So he pulls Seokmin close, grinning foolishly, and spins him across the field in a clumsy but excited dance.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jimin and Wonshik dancing; the taller man has Jimin lifted above his head as he spins, and Jimin is laughing so hard that his eyes are nearly invisible.

 

“For luck,” Seokmin murmurs as Soonyoung pulls him closer. “We’re married… and we have to lead your people. I think we need luck.”

 

“Our people now,” Soonyoung corrects him gently, smiling. Seokmin is the slightest bit taller, so he has to look up a little to meet his husband’s eyes. Seokmin’s eyes glimmer honey-gold in the sunlight, twin jewels set in his gorgeous face. “They’re yours, too.”

 

A bony elbow catches Soonyoung in the small of his back, and he lurches forward helplessly; with how close he and Seokmin are, he falls forward enough to brush his lips lightly against Seokmin’s.

 

Jimin’s giggles whirl past him as Soonyoung rights himself, and he sends the pair a jaunty wink before standing on tiptoe to kiss Wonshik’s jaw as they continue past.

 

Soonyoung opens his mouth to apologize, but the words freeze in his throat as he sees the smile and blush on Seokmin’s face.

 

He pretends to stay oblivious to the pained glint in Seokmin’s eyes, and tucks his arms tighter around his husband’s waist, resting his chin on Seokmin’s shoulder, and leads him into a slow, soft dance as the music changes.

 

They are in public now, after all, and it would be cruel of Soonyoung to make his husband cry in the middle of a festival, when they are on display for everyone to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is gonna be,,,,,,,, rough. thanks for bearing w me and my wacky update schedules :')


	11. XI: Seokmin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. so im a little nervous about this chapter but I hope u like it. thanks for waiting 💕

The next ceremony of the festival is a fertility rite, beginning as the full moon rises. Dressed in scant, sheer robes, Seokmin feels awfully exposed as Yoongi leads him to the small open tent set up for them, and he awkwardly arranges his hands in his lap to cover anything that might be seen.

 

Soonyoung sits on his own gilded chair, near identical to the ones they had used at one point in their wedding ceremony. The arch of Seokmin’s foot and the palm of his hand tingle at the memory, recalling the sick slide of a blade against flesh.

 

Seokmin closes his eyes against the memory, his face pulled tight.  _ Not now, _ he scolds himself.

 

The robes are not that bad after all, he thinks. There’s a wide belt around his hips that covers the important areas well enough, even if it makes his hips look vast and his shoulders tiny, and the fabric, though sheer, is cleverly layered to hide his nipples from public view.

 

The only real problems lie in the lowness of neckline; the robes expose his shoulders down to the divot between deltoid and biceps, and display his collarbone and most of his chest to the world. The fastening is loose as well, and the skirt opens past his knees, leaving his calves and much of his thighs visible.

 

Soonyoung is identically dressed, though, and Seokmin takes comfort in not being alone in this embarrassment. But then, Soonyoung looks like he was born to wear this… Seokmin just feels ridiculous.

 

Taeyong recites a blessing in Old Maraein; for the life of him, Seokmin cannot remember the words, though Wonshik had translated the blessing for him less than a sennight ago. Shame burns hot on Seokmin’s cheeks, and he prays that it can be attributed to the heat of the day.

 

Then there’s a baby being placed in Seokmin’s arms, and his whole head fizzles like a bad firework.

 

The baby is rosy and tan, wearing only a white cloth tucked around its bottom, and it blinks up at Seokmin, dark eyes set in a chubby face. Toothless and sleepy, it gives him a sweet smile that he can’t help but return.

 

Vaguely, he remembers that he is to kiss the infant on the forehead, and he eagerly does so, breathing in its sweet milky scent as he presses his lips against baby-soft skin.

 

“Live well,” he murmurs to the baby. “May the gods and spirits protect you all your life.” The words fall from his lips naturally, rehearsed though they are, barely loud enough to be heard.

 

The baby gurgles calmly, pudgy fists reaching up to twine into Seokmin’s hair.

 

“Live well,” Seokmin whispers again, though it is unscripted. His throat is choked with emotion, and he closes his eyes as he brings the baby close, letting its head rest gently against his shoulder.

 

When the baby is returned to its mother, Seokmin catches Soonyoung looking at him with pure fondness in his lovely eyes, a faint blush decorating the king’s cheeks.

 

Face burning, Seokmin looks away, blinking back the tears that threaten to well up in his eyes. In the moonlight, he can see every movement of Soonyoung’s face, and prays desperately that Soonyoung can’t see his.

 

Soonyoung stands and takes his hand, leading Seokmin forward so that they’re illuminated more clearly by the bright moonlight. The moon is gorgeous, glowing huge and gold in the night sky; in the empire, the moon had always looked so far away.

 

Jisoo steps forward, a large but shallow golden dish in his hands, and offers it to Soonyoung. Wordlessly, he accepts it, and dips the first two fingers of his right hand into the dark liquid that fills the dish.

 

“May the moon bless us with wisdom,” he murmurs, swiping his dripping fingers across Seokmin’s forehead, “and the stars with kindness.” He dips his fingers in the dark liquid again, presses them to Seokmin’s lips.

 

Seokmin opens his lips obediently, and allows Soonyoung’s fingers to slip past before closing his mouth. Wine, heady and sweet, fills his mouth, underlaid with the tang of sweat from Soonyoung’s nervous hands.

 

“Choose your partners,” Soonyoung instructs the assembly in a low voice that carries much further than Seokmin had expected, “and the world will smile on your coupling.” There’s a shuffling in the crowd, and when it stills, Soonyoung turns his bright eyes back to Seokmin’s face.

 

“I’m sorry, my heart,” he murmurs softly, and his hands find the pin holding the belt of Seokmin’s robes together. The fabric falls with a near-silent rustle, and Seokmin gasps, turning his head away as his robe falls open.

 

A mistake; he can see other couples doing the same, carefully unpinning their partners’ robes. Jimin presses a kiss to Wonshik’s collarbone, heedless of their audience, and Seokmin sees Jeonghan with his burning face tilted up to the sky, his hands flexing at his sides as someone gently slides the robe from one of his broad shoulders.

 

Fumbling when he realizes Soonyoung is waiting for him, Seokmin hurries to undo the pin holding Soonyoung’s belt, his stomach churning. There are countless gazes fixed on them now, although wandering hands dance over their partners’ exposed skin.

 

Soonyoung’s hand, warm and soft despite the calluses striping his palm, slides around Seokmin’s waist, his thumb digging gently into Seokmin’s hipbone to ground him.

 

“May the sun bless us with life,” Soonyoung continues, drawing a circle over Seokmin’s breastbone; dark, sweet-smelling wine drips down his torso and pools in his belly button. Soonyoung shudders against the feeling, the trail of liquid raising goosebumps across his torso. 

 

“And may the earth bless us with fertility,” Soonyoung finishes, and takes a deep draught from the bowl of wine. He passes the bowl to Seokmin next, and Seokmin accepts it with shaking hands, lowering his head to drink. “May this wine and our conjoined bodies become a suitable offering to the gods of the sky and spirits of the earth, and may they accept it with joy.”

 

He passes the bowl away, and it is passed through the crowd, every couple taking a small sip of the sweet wine within.

 

Seokmin’s head is swirling with the combination of strong wine and the tension in the air, the air of a warm summer night combined with the heat of a hundred bodies.

 

Soonyoung’s mouth brushes against Seokmin’s exposed shoulder, and all logical thought flies from Seokmin’s head; he holds back a whimper, pressing his lips tight together as he nearly goes limp in Soonyoung’s arms.

 

_ Please, ancestors, not here, _ Seokmin prays silently, squeezing his eyes shut as Soonyoung delicately mouths at his shoulder and mouths down the trail left by the drips of wine. He can feel heat pooling in his pelvis already, despite the coolness of the breeze on their skin.  _ Not here, please, please… _

 

Soonyoung’s gentle hands slip the robe from Seokmin’s body, and the whimper escapes this time.  _ You asked to participate, _ Seokmin reminds himself firmly, his thighs trembling, struggling to hold himself up.  _ This is your duty. This is what you are here for. _

 

Desperately, as though possessed, Seokmin claws at Soonyoung’s robe, which still hangs open, the loose fabric pooling at his elbows.

 

He dares another glance at the crowd, his chest heaving; most of them are dispersing, attached to their partners by the mouth. Jeonghan has submitted limply to his partner’s ministrations, and his face is flushed as the man half carries him away.

 

Seokmin closes his eyes, willing himself not to feel.

 

—

 

It’s but ten minutes before Soonyoung lays Seokmin out on the bed, just as he had on their wedding night.

 

“I’m so sorry, Seokmin,” Soonyoung whispers. “I shouldn’t have even — This night does not have to go any farther.”

 

Panicked, Seokmin lurches halfway up, clutching Soonyoung’s bare arm. “No, I promised,” he half babbles. The traitorous heat in his groin has not lessened, and he doesn’t have to look down to know that he is half-erect, though he blushes even thinking of himself in that context. “Take me.”

 

Something like true fear flashes across Soonyoung’s face, and he steps back, his horrified gaze flicking up and down Seokmin’s body as his delicate mouth drops open.

 

_ No, gods, he’s disgusted by me, _ Seokmin thinks feverishly, and he fights the urge to curl in on himself in shame. “Your Majesty —  _ Soonyoung _ , my king, my heart, please,” he gasps. Desperately, he drops his hand, dares to grope for his cock and pump it in his fist as he had before finding release on their wedding night. He feels dirty, filthy even, touching himself. “Please, Soonyoung.”

 

“What are you doing?” Soonyoung asks, his facade of calm cracking before Seokmin’s eyes. Tears are welling up in his eyes, and Seokmin nearly sobs. “Seokmin, angel — Seokmin,  _ stop!” _

 

An order, then. Seokmin goes limp, pliant. He had been taught this in the palace, an important part of his education. Slowly, trembling and still aching for release, he lies back, his eyes squeezed shut — tears wet his face, but he pays no heed — tucks his hands under his knees, lifts his legs so his hole is exposed. “Please, Your Majesty,” he gasps. “Let me do my duty to my people and the Clans, to you.”

 

Gentle hands push his knees down, and Soonyoung’s thumbs brush the tears from Seokmin’s face. “Oh, Seokmin,” he breathes, his voice trembling with sorrow, with something altogether too close to pity. Seokmin whimpers, turning his head away so he isn’t subject to the full force of the anger that’s sure to come next.

 

“Majesty,” Seokmin chokes out. “Please, I am but your humble servant, I am meant for only this.” His voice cracks and trembles awfully, and he prays that whatever punishment he receives, it won’t be too vicious, if only to avoid hurting the child that is to come of this union. “Please. I am just a countryless prince, uneducated and useless, meant only to give you a child, please…” His legs are beginning to cramp, and his arms tremble. Will Soonyoung not just take him?

 

“My gods, Seokmin,” Soonyoung says, and his voice is choked and trembles with a sob. “Is that what you truly think of yourself?” He hauls Seokmin upright and pulls him close, and then, unrestrained, the king of the fearsome clans begins to bawl into Seokmin’s shoulder.

 

Uselessly, Seokmin tries to grind into Soonyoung’s thigh, still aching for release; but the king’s grip on him is tighter than a vice, and he cannot find the friction he craves.

 

“Oh, my heart, my angel, my dearest Seokmin,” Soonyoung hiccups out. “Please, stop doing this to yourself, it hurts my heart just  _ looking _ at you…”

 

“M sorry,” Seokmin mumbles. “I should be better, I will be better, Your Majesty…”

 

“I don’t  _ want _ better,” Soonyoung wails, and tucks his face deeper into the crook of Seokmin’s neck. His next words come out muffled, and his voice is shaky, miserable. “I just want  _ you, _ angel.”

 

Struck dumb, Seokmin sits there limply, trying to process the words coming from his king’s mouth.

 

“Just you,” Soonyoung sniffles. “Nothing more, nothing less. You,  _ Seokmin _ . My gorgeous, kind, compassionate king.”

 

“You don’t hate me?” Seokmin asks dumbly, and he feels the fresh wave of tears against his neck before he hears Soonyoung’s weak cries.

 

“No, angel, how could anyone hate you?” Soonyoung murmurs, and moves his hand to stroke Seokmin’s loose hair. “You are beautiful,” he whispers. “May the gods themselves strike me down if I lie.”

 

Some time passes; Seokmin doesn’t quite know how long. His erection dies down slowly, until the two of them are sitting together on their bed, naked and crying until no more tears are left in them.

 

“I don’t want to see you like this any longer,” Soonyoung mumbles into Seokmin’s neck. “Never again. Gods and spirits of the earth, how could I live with myself?” His arms tighten around Seokmin’s waist, his still-wet face nuzzled against Seokmin’s shoulder. “You’re not just a political piece, angel. You’re Seokmin, and that’s ten thousand times more important than anything else.”

 

He pulls back at last, thumbing at the tears drying on Seokmin’s face. “Angel. I know this goes against everything you’ve been taught — but gods, Seokmin, how could they have done this to you?” Soonyoung hiccups weakly, his lower lip wobbling. “I would never, ever force you into anything. Believe me when I say that, at least. I only want you to be happy.”

 

There’s moonlight still streaming into their bedroom, silvery blue reflecting off Soonyoung’s dark hair and sun-bronzed skin. In this light, he looks like a vision, a painting.

 

“Right now, you are more important than any heir you may give me, any agenda your empire may have sent you with, and I will keep repeating this until you believe it.” Soonyoung’s eyes — hadn’t that been the thing that first captivated Seokmin? — are glimmering in the moonlight, earnest and sincere. “And I will not partake in the conception of a child until you honestly and truly want one for yourself, not for some useless political value.”

 

And Soonyoung’s voice is as earnest as his beautiful eyes, and he has never done anything to hurt Seokmin, not even when their positions all but demand it, and he had given Seokmin the crown before he himself took it, and everything in his actions and words spoke of pure love and care.

 

So Seokmin gives in to the urge that had gripped him since he had first laid eyes on Soonyoung, and lurches forward to press his lips against Soonyoung’s in a clumsy kiss.

 

“My precious eternity,” Soonyoung whispers against his lips. “My only.”

 

Seokmin whines softly in the back of his throat, but this is a whine of pleasure. More firmly, but still clumsy, he pushes harder against Soonyoung’s lips, and Soonyoung’s hands fall to the back of his neck and small of his back, drawing their bodies closer.

 

Exhaustion overcomes him while they kiss, and Seokmin finds his eyes drooping before long. Soonyoung smiles against his lips, and breaks the kiss gently, pulling back to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Seokmin’s ear, fondness in his eyes and his soft smile.

 

“Sleep well, my angel,” Soonyoung whispers, laying them down against the pillows. “Tomorrow is a new day. We’ll talk more when you feel better.”

 

—

 

Seokmin wakes the next morning wrapped in Soonyoung’s arms, their chamber and bed warm with the late morning sun, golden light pooling over their faces.

 

Soonyoung is still asleep, it seems, his breathing deep and even, and his head is nuzzled into Seokmin’s hair. Somehow, like this, Seokmin is the most comfortable he’s ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and also you can find me on twitter now @lunar_ren!!


	12. XII: Soonyoung

The next morning dawns, signalling the beginning of the festival proper. Soonyoung wakes with the sun, but goes back to sleep almost immediately when he realizes that he and Seokmin are twined around each other, loath to wake his husband up.

 

When he wakes properly, Seokmin is blinking up at him, soft and sleepy in the late morning light.

 

“Mm. Good morning, my angel,” Soonyoung murmurs, smiling. He smooths down the flyaways from Seokmin’s long hair, chuckling softly when Seokmin presses into the touch like a contented cat.

 

“Good morning,” Seokmin mumbles back, a shy smile on his face. Soonyoung files away the information that Seokmin seemingly loves to have his hair petted, and bumps his nose playfully against Seokmin’s.

 

“Do you feel better today?” Soonyoung asks carefully, keeping his voice as light as possible. To his dismay, Seokmin’s face drops at the words, and he looks away, biting his lip.

 

“Not by much,” he admits. “Last night… feels like a dream. I can’t quite believe it actually happened.”

 

Soonyoung closes his eyes briefly, willing back tears. “I promise you, it wasn’t,” he murmurs. Bumping his forehead gently against Seokmin’s rewards him with a sad giggle, and his heart swells a little.

 

_ Gods grant me strength, _ he prays silently.  _ Give us strength to overcome this pain. _

 

“Please,” Seokmin all but whimpers, and his hands clench into fists where they rest against Soonyoung’s chest. “Be patient with me.” His voice sounds almost broken, and Soonyoung has to fight back tears again at the sheer misery in Seokmin’s tone. “I am… I am trying to unlearn so many things, and — and it will take time,” Seokmin continues, his gaze still cast down. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

 

“My heart,” Soonyoung says gently, and dares to tip Seokmin’s chin up so that he can look Seokmin in the eye. “How could I ever be angry with you for being afraid?” Daring, risking himself yet again, he places a gentle kiss on Seokmin’s nose, ever so lightly. “I promise, I will be patient.”

 

Seokmin sniffles weakly, and Soonyoung wraps his arms around Seokmin’s waist, drawing them closer together. They’re still naked, having not had the energy to even put on sleeping clothes the night before, but the situation is anything but sexual.

 

“I’ll make us a bath,” Soonyoung murmurs, pressing his face to Seokmin’s bare shoulder. “And then I want to show you the festival. You haven’t seen a proper Maraein celebration, have you?”

 

Seokmin shakes his head as Soonyoung gets up slowly, mustering a weak smile. “I suppose I haven’t,” he says, and his eyes trail after Soonyoung as he departs.

 

Preparing their bath is easy enough; Soonyoung thanks the Gods that they have indoor plumbing. He’s heard enough stories of the Empire to know that they have to spend hours hauling buckets of water up stairs and heating it and hauling it even further to have a bath, but that much work is reserved for extremely ritualistic baths in the clans.

 

A sprinkle of bath salts and a handful of flower petals, and the bath is ready, steaming invitingly.

 

“Tell me about your friends,” Soonyoung says once they’re settled in the tub. Hesitantly, he reaches for a cut-glass bottle of liquid soap, pouring the fragrant liquid into his hand and reaching for Seokmin’s back. “I feel that I don’t know much about them.”

 

Seokmin relaxes into his touch; emboldened, Soonyoung begins working the soap into his back and shoulders. “Jeonghan was… is my best friend,” he says softly. There’s a smile in his voice, and a slight wistful note. “We had… well, we had been engaged. Since I was very small. It wasn’t — official, but we knew.”

 

Soonyoung hums, massaging Seokmin’s back gently. He had suspected as much; Jeonghan had an intense fondness for Seokmin, visible from leagues away, and the longing way the eldest still looked at Seokmin spoke enough of his devotion.

 

“Were you happy with that?” Soonyoung dares to ask.

 

“We weren’t unhappy,” Seokmin murmurs. “But I never… I don’t think I ever loved him, not in that way. He’s very dear to me… but as a brother, nothing more.” His voice is still wistful, and his shoulders are slumped.

 

Nodding, Soonyoung lifts water in his cupped hands to pour over Seokmin’s back. “I understand,” he says softly. Then, in an attempt at levity: “I saw Jihoon half carrying him away last night — I think your ex-fiancé has been captured by another man anyway.”

 

Seokmin laughs, a bright peal of joy in the marble bath chamber. “I saw him too,” he giggles. “I wondered who had taken him.”

 

“Luck to him,” Soonyoung says in a mock-serious tone, overjoyed that Seokmin is taking the joke well. “Jihoon is one of the most demanding men I have ever met, and  _ Jimin _ is my cousin!”

 

He reaches for the comb that rests on the side of the bath, running it gently through Seokmin’s hair. “Tell me more.”

 

“Mmm… Mingyu’s a High Mage,” Seokmin offers. His voice is lighter now, and it seems to lighten the entire room. “It’s a great honour personally bestowed by the Emperor, and it takes years of study in the College of Sorcery…”

 

Like that, they pass the rest of the morning. Soonyoung learns of Mingyu’s fondness for cats and dogs, and the way he squeaks when he laughs and is spooked by every bug. He learns of Chan, the young Knight, and the way Seokmin has caught him weaving flower crowns and counting petals to learn his fate in love, and the seriousness with which he approaches his duties.

 

He also learns that Seokmin’s hands are gentle and strong when washing another’s back, and that his humming sounds even better when Soonyoung is in the same room. He learns that Seokmin’s smile is even more brilliant than he’d known, and that Seokmin’s eyes crinkle into crescents when he smiles, and that he loves the scent of jasmine and orange blossoms.

 

He learns that Seokmin gets shy when his nose is kissed, and that he loves to have gentle hands massaging cleansing oil through his hair.

 

And he also learns that Seokmin’s favourite colour is blue, and he blushes a beautiful pink when Soonyoung promises to commission him a whole wardrobe the colour of the sky.

 

—

 

Seokmin is whisked away when they’re done with their bath, tugged off by a red-faced and very determined-looking Jeonghan, who sports rumpled hair and red marks adorning his neck. Soonyoung has to laugh, and by the sound of it, so does Seokmin.

 

Soonyoung passes Jihoon when he heads out to the gardens for air, and gives him a wink.

 

Jihoon returns the wink with a smug smile, and tugs the collar of his robe aside to reveal a large red splotch on his own collarbone — most improper on any other day of the year, but a badge of honour and a sign of good luck today.

 

Soonyoung cackles all through his late breakfast thinking of Jeonghan’s expression.

 

“Well, somebody’s in high spirits today,” Jimin’s voice trills. He sits down across from Soonyoung, placing his own tray of food on the stone of the garden pavilion. “Did my dear cousin get lucky last night?”

 

“Luckier than any man on this earth,” Soonyoung replies promptly, and Jimin dissolves into giggles. “Yourself?”

 

Jimin stretches luxuriantly, resembling a cat more than anything. “Mm, Wonshik was  _ very _ good to me last night. You may find yourself celebrating the birth of a nephew come early spring, dear cousin.”

 

Soonoung laughs, reaching out to pinch one of the cream-coloured  _ mochi _ from Jimin’s tray. “Jimin, you have been saying that to me for years. What makes this festival different?”

 

Jimin slaps his hand away from another mochi, but his expression is soft. “We aren’t at war now,” he says, and his voice is content, and more soft than Soonyoung has heard from him in years. “Soonie… I’m not worried about bringing a child into a world of war any longer. Wonshik and I can raise a child in peace and joy, with a loving family that won’t be torn apart by battle.”

 

He wipes his eyes surreptitiously, and breaks a piece of sun bread in half. “You’ve done so much for us, Soonyoungie. I can’t even begin to thank you properly.”

 

Soonyoung sits back, observing his cousin carefully. Jimin had lost weight during the final moons of the war, worrying for Wonshik, who had spent three cycles of the moon on the front lines; but he had clearly begun filling out again in the past two moons. His cheeks are full and rosy, and his face glows with health.

 

“Jimin,” Soonyoung says softly, his own smile threatening to split his face in half, “I am so glad for you.”

 

Jimin laughs, watery but happy. “It’s thanks to you,” he insists, and passes Soonyoung the half-piece of sun bread.

 

Soonyoung turns the bread over in his hands, still half smiling. The rich sun bread is covered with melted brown sugar, and it still steams gently. Baked at dawn, it’s a traditional food eaten at midsummer, especially by those hoping to conceive.

 

Soonyoung can’t think of anyone more deserving of a loving family than Jimin and Wonshik. Silently, he sends a prayer to the gods of life and fertility, and begins eating.

 

—

 

That evening, he and Seokmin sit on the edge of a bridge, watching fireworks.

 

“We had fireworks for special holidays in the empire, too,” Seokmin says, sounding awed. “They weren’t anywhere near as bright as this, though.”

 

Soonyoung nods in acknowledgment, letting out a soft sound of awe as a particularly large blue firework explodes above them. “What were the holidays you celebrated back there?” he asks curiously.

 

Seokmin shrugs, and his face turns slightly uncomfortable. “The Day of the Ancestors, New Year’s, and my father’s and eldest brother’s birthdays. Not much else.”

 

Soonyoung drops it immediately, instead taking a pouch from an inner pocket of his robe. “I bought some  _ maejakgwa _ earlier,” he explains, opening the pouch. “Do you want to try it?” Mentally, he makes a note to ask Jeonghan about this Day of the Ancestors; clearly, Seokmin wants nothing more than to avoid talking about it.

 

Seokmin smiles weakly, dipping his hand in to take one of the ring-shaped sweets. “Thank you,” he murmurs. His eyes light up when he takes a cautious bite, and soon, he’s reaching out for a small handful.

 

“When is your birthday?” Soonyoung smiles, giving Seokmin a sidelong glance. “We’ll have to know when to set off our own fireworks for you.” He passes Seokmin the full pouch — he’d bought the treats for him anyway.

 

“Mm. The eighteenth day of the year’s second moon,” Seokmin murmurs. “My father would always host a banquet for me on that day, like he did for all of his direct sons — but I never really…” He squirms, clearly uncomfortable. “I never liked that,” he says in a rush of breath. “I felt put on display. The older men and women of the court would all be staring at me, as if they wanted to  _ eat _ me.” He shudders, and Soonyoung leans closer instinctively, wrapping one arm around Seokmin’s waist.

 

“I would never do that to you,” Soonyoung whispers. “I promise.”

 

Seokmin musters a weak smile, and a firework illuminates his face in gold. “I believe you,” he says quietly, and Soonyoung’s heart swells until it feels like he may burst.


	13. XIII: Seokmin

Their remaining time in the Aerien clan passes too quickly for Seokmin’s liking. Past the first ceremonies, the midsummer festival was beautiful, and Soonyoung’s family and clan were more than welcoming.

 

Wonshik pulls Seokmin aside the morning of their departure, looking serious.

 

“Seokmin,” he says, voice low. “I cannot begin to thank you enough for everything you’ve done, for the Clans, and…” Is that a blush? Seokmin has to hold back a surprised laugh, seeing the tall and imposing man duck his head shyly. “For me and Jimin. Thanks to you, Jimin and I can finally start the family we’ve been dreaming of for years.”

 

One-handed, Wonshik reaches out and gently places Seokmin’s hand on his belly. “I know it’s much to ask — but will you and Soonyoung return in ten months for our child’s Naming ceremony? And if our child is a boy, I would be immensely honoured if you allowed us to name him after you.”

 

Seokmin blinks hard, staring blankly at Wonshik’s flat belly, where both of their hands rest. A baby. There is a baby growing there, right now, and Wonshik wants to name it after him.

  
“The honour would be mine,” Seokmin chokes out, surprised to find his voice thick with tears. “I — I don’t know what to say.”

 

Wonshik smiles, dropping Seokmin’s hand. “No words are needed, my king,” he says softly. “Your husband is waiting. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Seokmin; I look forward to seeing you again.”

 

Feeling light enough to float away, Seokmin makes his way to the carriage in a daze. Soonyoung is waiting, of course, speaking with Jimin and Jisoo in a low voice and nodding carefully as they reply. His face lights up when he sees Seokmin, though, and he reaches out to easily snake his arm around Seokmin’s waist.

 

“I see Wonshik broke the news,” he murmurs, voice low and sweet in Seokmin’s ear. “They’ve been waiting a long time for this child… I’m very happy for them.”

 

Seokmin nods, his head still spinning.

 

Soonyoung, delicate as ever, holds Seokmin’s hand and boosts him gently into the gold-adorned carriage before entering himself, bending to gather up the gauzy tails of the scarf Minghao had draped across Seokmin’s back with utmost care.

 

Thinking back, Seokmin has never seen a man do that for his Carrier before.

 

The train of Soonyoung’s robes gets caught in the carriage door, and Seokmin laughs without thinking.

 

Soonyoung, pulling fruitlessly at his robe, looks up at Seokmin with an exasperated smile, fondness glittering in his eyes.

 

Seokmin nearly apologizes, but Soonyoung cuts him off with a rueful shake of his head. “Such is the life of a husband,” he declares dramatically, giving the fabric one last halfhearted tug. Rather shamefacedly, he turns around, stumbling over his train, and inches the carriage door open a fraction to yank his robes inside with a quick twitch of his wrist. “Sacrificing my own dignity to save yours.” He sits down across from Seokmin, smiling, and reaches out to twine their fingers together.

 

“Where are we going now?” Seokmin inquires, running his thumb over Soonyoung’s knuckles in hopes of soothing any wounded pride.

 

Soonyoung glances out the window as the carriage starts moving, then casts his eyes up in thought. “Ah… I believe our next stop is the Korial Clan’s lands.” He pulls a face most unbecoming of a king, sticking his tongue out and grimacing like a demon. “I shouldn't say this as their king, but they’re an awful bunch of old gasbags.”

 

Disease curls around Seokmin’s stomach, somehow always so new even though he hasn’t truly been at ease since their treaty was signed. “Are they that bad?” he dares to ask.

 

Soonyoung wets his lips thoughtfully, pinching his mouth into a tight, uncomfortable line. “They…” he begins hesitantly, and Seokmin notices his hand has gone clammy. “They are very  _ conservative, _ I suppose.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste and rolls his lower lip between his teeth.

 

Silence, cold and heavy, rests over the carriage for a few nervous heartbeats.

 

“They believe that a Carrier’s place is not on the throne,” Soonyoung says at last. “And that a marriage is invalid until the woman or carrier becomes with child. Thus…” He growls low in his throat, tipping his head back, and his free hand reaches up to cover his eyes and drag down his face. “Thus the elders of the Korial Clan,” he grits out, “do not recognize you as King in anything but ceremony.” He gathers Seokmin’s other hand up, pressing their hands tight together. “They will not be kind to you,” he sighs. “They only tolerate my kingship because of my deeds during the War and my direct bloodline.”

 

He bows his head and places an apologetic kiss on Seokmin’s knuckles.

 

Seokmin can’t help but smile wryly, a mirthless laugh forcing its way out of his throat in painful bursts. “Well, it won’t be anything new for me,” he says, attempting levity.

 

He will have to follow the strictest of the rules his governesses and tutors drummed into his head; that will be easy enough. What won’t be easy is seeing Soonyoung among these people, forced to act like one of  _ them _ .

 

Oh, ancestors. Seokmin’s gut clenches, and cold fear drips down his spine. Soonyoung will act like any given nobleman or prince of the Empire, one lucky enough not to be cursed with a womb.

 

“Oh, dear heart,” Soonyoung murmurs, and reaches up to thumb away the wetness from Seokmin’s cheeks. “I won’t allow them to say a word to you, I promise. You won’t have to put up with their damned nonsense as long as I’m with you, all right?”

 

Seokmin musters a weak smile, and leans subconsciously into Soonyoung’s touch.

 

_ How could I have ever doubted you, _ he wonders fondly, the thought forming completely unbidden. Then, taken aback,  _ what? _

 

_ You barely know him _ , the paranoid part of his heart shouts. _ How can you trust him that easily? _

 

_ But he has been nothing but kind, even when I all but begged for him to be cruel, _ he shoots back, frightened by both sides of the debate.  _ How can I not? _

 

He stays silent for the rest of the day, retreating uncertainly into his thoughts.

 

—

 

When the carriage finally halts at the entrance of the clan hall’s grounds, Soonyoung doesn’t move to open the door, twisting his hands in his jade-green travel robes.

 

“They’re sending a servant,” he whispers to Seokmin. “I expect we’ll have to stand in front of the carriage for quite a while while they fetch a carpet and such.” He pulls a playful grimace, but it does little to mask the nervousness in his eyes.

 

The door swings open, and Soonyoung stands, offering his hand to Seokmin. “You’ll do well,” he says quietly. “I believe in you.”

 

They step out onto a white carpet, trimmed with gold, and Seokmin nearly freezes in place.

 

There’s a collection of elderly-looking men on the steps at the other end of the carpet, all with identical disapproving expressions and dressed in somber dark blues and blacks.

 

Soonyoung squeezes Seokmin’s hand reassuringly, and begins to lead him down the carpeted path. A young boy, seemingly only about ten, darts in front of them, scattering fragrant petals at their feet, and ducks away once they reach the stone steps.

 

“Your Majesties,” one of the men says, bowing. He wears gold trim on his robes, and a simple medallion hangs from his neck. “We welcome you to our Clan and Hall.”

 

Soonyoung does not even dip his head, already so different from the man who laughed and embraced his cousin. “It honours both the Crown and your Clan that you welcome me and my royal husband thus,” he says, not stiff but formal, the words ice-cold as they fall from his lips.

 

Seokmin doesn’t dare follow his husband’s example, bowing his head respectfully before this intimidating elder. He doesn’t speak — his husband has spoken for both of them, and he hasn’t been directly addressed.

 

“Your, ah,  _ husband…  _ does credit to himself as a carrier,” one of the elders speaks up as they allow the two to pass, cruel amusement soaking the word  _ husband _ . “Have you given him your seed yet? The Clans eagerly await the birth of their first royal son.”

 

Soonyoung’s cold face does not break; rather, it frosts over even more. “Our marriage was consummated according to the law,” he says tightly, and his hand finds Seokmin’s in the draping sleeves of their robes. “Although conception has not occurred, I do not believe my royal husband or myself prepared for a child.”

 

“Hm,” the elder tuts gently. “Is one ever prepared for the miracle that is a child? Perhaps your majesties ought to consider a birth, pardoning my boldness.”

 

“Your Grace’s opinion has been heard, Lord Hwang,” Soonyoung says, venom hiding beneath the politely frosty veneer of his voice. “Perhaps Your Grace should be more concerned with the welfare of your own children than our own, who remain as of yet unconceived.”

 

The elders share a polite laugh, dry and crackling like old paper. There’s no feeling behind that laughter, Seokmin is sure.

 

“My royal husband and I will retire to our chamber, if you will permit us,” Soonyoung declares, although his tone allows no room for argument. “As we have travelled for nearly a sennight, we are extremely tired.”

 

The clan leaders murmur polite approval, though Seokmin can see an ugly glint in their eyes.

 

“I don’t like them,” he blurts once the heavy wood door of their bedchamber is shut. “They…” He shudders, looking away. “Gods.” The last word comes out in a soft hiss, and he hesitates to say it at all.

 

Soonyoung wraps him in a tight embrace, allowing Seokmin to tuck his head into his shoulder. “I know, my heart,” he whispers. His shoulders are shaking, and Seokmin can feel the tension in his muscles from where his hands rest on Soonyoung’s back. “I hate them too, believe me — I’d have us away from here in a moment if I could.”

 

He draws the two of them a bath and spends an hour massaging the tension from Seokmin’s muscles, but gently declines Seokmin’s offer to return the favor. “I would rather you be comfortable than me,” he confesses frankly. “And gods know you will need this in the next month.”

 

Dinner is ordered to their room; Soonyoung, with a pettiness toward the elders that has Seokmin’s head spin, orders Taekwoon be as frosty as possible when requesting dinner.

 

Taekwoon’s shoulders shake, and he looks through his eyelashes with a small chuckle. “Your Majesty, I can be very frosty indeed. Are you certain you desire to unleash that?”

 

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose, and his protective arm tightens around Seokmin’s waist. “Yes,” he bites out. “They deserve none of our respect, the way they behaved to us — to Seokmin, especially — already.”

 

Taekwoon makes a very polite bow, smiling. “As my king wishes,” he says, and comes back half an hour later shaking with silent laughter and carrying a covered tray.

 

“They were apoplectic as expected, then,” Soonyoung says with satisfaction, taking the tray from Taekwoon’s hands. “Thank you, Taekwoon; you are truly our greatest ally here.”

 

They eat and retire for sleep quickly, and Seokmin cuddles close to Soonyoung for protection; the room is large and opulent, but cold, so cold, and unfamiliar.

 

—

 

An unfamiliar man is the one to wake them in the morning, grim-faced.

 

“Get up,” he says, voice deep and rumbling and somehow familiar. “There’s been a message from the Blood Emperor for King Dokyeom and his companions.”

 

Seokmin is awake in a second, bolting upright. “Th— the what?” he asks weakly.

 

The man laughs, though there’s not an ounce of mirth in it. “His Imperial Majesty, the Blood Dragon, your father. Did you not know what his soldiers called him on the battlefield?”

 

Seokmin’s stomach plunges, and he scrambles out of bed, haphazardly combing his fingers through his hair. Cold dread grips his stomach — his father had never been the most impressed with the seventh out of his many sons, despite being the only carrier among the bunch. They’d promised no contact — he was all but dead to the Empire now, he had been ceremonially cut off —

 

“Jeonghan,” he half screams, half sobs. There are tears flowing down his face — when had that happened? “Jeonghan, Jeonghan,  _ hyung—” _

 

The ancient term slips from his lips without him entirely meaning it to, and he collapses in a miserable heap of white sleep robes, bashing his knees on the stone floor. His head aches and spins, sickness gripping his stomach. “Jeonghan,” he calls again, weakly, and retches on the floor.

 

Warm arms wrap around him, and someone is yelling; doors bang, and Seokmin is pulled away, still sobbing.

 

He’s submerged in warm water, his sick-stained robe pulled from his body. His hair is hastily yanked up, and he shrieks at the sudden tug and pull.

 

“Where is the goddamn doctor?” Soonyoung bellows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um, oops?


	14. XIV: Soonyoung

Soonyoung paces outside the door of his and Seokmin’s bedroom, still in his nightclothes. He’d been forcibly removed from the room by the doctor, who had locked the door immediately and only opened it to admit Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Mingyu.

 

“You have to calm down,” Jeonghan says for the thousandth, ten thousandth time. “You won’t do anything by pacing.” His own hair is frazzled from the times he’s buried his bony fingers in it, and the sash of his robe is knotted haphazardly at best.

 

“I cannot,” Soonyoung shoots back like a curse, halting in front of the door. “Seokmin — my king, my _ husband, _ is ill — you weren’t there, Jeonghan, you didn’t see —” He breaks off with a choked sob, pressing his fist to his mouth.

 

He hasn’t felt this helpless since he was twelve summers old, waiting at his father’s bedside for the injured king to draw his last rattling breath.

 

The door opens a crack, and Mingyu steps out, looking harried. His familiar isn’t draped around his shoulders as she usually is, and his dark skin has gone sickly grey-green. He closes the door and the lock clicks, cutting them off from Seokmin once again.

 

“I can do no more,” the mage gasps. “I — I left Pelydryn, she can help, but I have to… have to rest.” He stumbles, weak-legged, to the couch Jeonghan has situated himself on, and collapses.

 

“What of Seokmin?” Soonyoung demands, following him doggedly. “Is he well?”

 

Mingyu drags his hands over his face, clearly exhausted, but Soonyoung pays no heed. “He is no longer in danger from his own body,” he says on a shuddering breath.

 

Soonyoung lets out a frustrated growl and turns on his heel, pounding frantically on the door. “Let me in!” he shouts. He can do  _ some _ magic, why are they keeping him from his husband’s side? And, by the gods, he is their king, they ought to listen!

 

“Hoshi!” A slender hand grabs his shoulder and forcibly whirls him around, and he comes face-to-face with Jeonghan. The older’s eyes are rimmed red, dark with tears, and Soonyoung abruptly remembers that this is the man who was supposed to marry Seokmin.

 

“Hoshi,” Jeonghan repeats, gentler. “Come on, we aren’t doing Seokmin or ourselves any good.”

 

He leads Soonyoung away, through the austere corridors of the great hall. They pass Chan on their way, who is tightening the buckle of his armor as he runs, bright spear and sword jangling.

 

“He is to guard Seokmin’s door,” Jeonghan explains quietly. “No one will pass without his knowledge and permission.” He flags down a servant not five minutes later, saying something Soonyoung is too distracted to hear.

 

They halt in the centre of the hall’s gardens, surrounded by roses.

 

Jeonghan sits and makes Soonyoung do the same, turning to face him.

 

“You are Seokmin’s husband,” he says plainly. “That does not mean you are solely responsible for his well-being.”

 

Soonyoung opens his mouth to retort, but Jeonghan silences him with a level look. “Your Majesty,” he says, his voice still calm. “I have lived with Seokmin for my whole life.” He closes his eyes briefly, bows his head. “Do you think Seokmin is the only one who gave up his family and home to come here?”

 

Soonyoung can only blink, attempting to process that, as Jeonghan lifts his head just enough to give him a wry smile. “Never thought of it that way, did you?” he asks, but his voice isn’t irate. Somehow, that only serves to make Soonyoung feel worse.

 

Jeonghan takes a deep breath, and Soonyoung has to look away, fearing that he might be somehow intruding on Jeonghan’s private emotions.

 

“I love Seokmin,” Jeonghan says, so quiet, defeated. “Not quite in the way he does me, I am sure, but we were meant to be married, and it is a bond I can never quite forget. Even though I harbor no resentment or ill will toward you, I cannot forget that to me, Seokmin is the most important person in the whole world.” He meets Soonyoung’s gaze, a glint in those dark, round eyes that Soonyoung can’t quite interpret. “Enough that I have willingly left behind my family,  _ my _ clan, for him. My father and mother, my sister — I shall never see them again. But I did not want Seokmin to go into this unfamiliar land without someone he knows loves him. I do not want him to be unhappy ever again.”

 

His gaze drifts then, fixing on a delicate purple rose. “I think you and I have that in common, Your Majesty.”

 

A servant hurries toward them, calling out.

 

“Your Majesty, your grace,” she says, bowing frantically. “The doctor has summoned you to the King’s chamber.”

 

—

 

Seokmin is lying in their grand bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows. His face is horribly pale against the white sheets and the limp strands of his dark hair, and his eyes are dull. Pelydryn is curled on his lap, a benevolent orange-yellow goddess.

 

The doctor sits on the edge of the bed, Seokmin’s wrist held delicately in his hand as he takes his pulse. “He is out of danger,” are the man’s first words, spoken in a soft, fluty voice. “You are lucky I was able to arrive in time.”

 

“I am forever in your debt,” Soonyoung agrees, and bows. He can see the shock in the doctor’s eyes, though his face remains impassive. “Will he recover soon?”

 

“Yes,” the doctor says simply, laying Seokmin’s wrist down gently. “He is strong; I believe he has merely contracted an illness from travel, which was exacerbated by the upset in his qi caused by this message from his father.”

 

Seokmin lets out a miserable noise at that, and the last thread of Soonyoung’s patience snaps. He rushes to the bedside, skidding to his knees, and fumbles for Seokmin’s hand.

 

“I’m all right,” Seokmin mumbles, closing his eyes. His other hand fumbles for Pelydryn, and he buries his fingers knuckle-deep in the cat’s fur. “Doctor Kihyun helped me a lot.”

 

“What’s the message?” Soonyoung asks, struggling to keep his voice from trembling. He doesn’t take his eyes off Seokmin, afraid somehow that his husband will vanish if he looks away. His hand in Soonyoung’s is so cold and clammy.

 

“Call Mingyu and Chan,” the doctor says quietly. “It concerns them as well.”

 

Mingyu and Chan are summarily brought, the mage having to be helped to a chair. His legs still wobble, and it is strange to see the tall, broad man look so small as he collapses into the waiting chair. Conversely, Chan stands straight as a board, shoulders back and his expression attentive and solemn. Jeonghan makes his way to the other side of the bed, arranging himself neatly next to Seokmin.

 

Wonwoo enters last, holding a pure white scroll bound with blood red. He unfurls it vertically, the Imperial way, and clears his throat, looking murderous.

 

“To my best-beloved son, Seokmin Lee, Third of the Name, Seventh Born Son of His Imperial Majesty Taewang Lee, Fourth of the Name, of the Teluthion Empire, Rose among Thorns and Treasure of the Barbarian Clans,” he begins, and Soonyoung’s stomach plunges. Seokmin screws his eyes closed, letting out a whimpering sob.

 

“My son,

 

“It is with great regret for my unforgivable belatedness that I write to you at last. I must as your father first congratulate you upon the joyous occasion of your marriage, and write with the hope that your bridegroom will have happiness soon. I and your august brothers await the birth of your first child with nothing less than utmost elation.

 

“Fear not, my most beloved child, for you shall not have to suffer among the barbarians of the untamed lands for many years. Convey this message to young Chan and Mingyu forthwith: I count on them to lead from the inside the invasion of these savages’ lands. When we have taken their castles, their lands, and all they can give us, you, my angelic son, will be instituted as my one and true heir, overseeing the governance of the Empire all your life.

 

“It has come to my attention that your barbarian husband may also carry, and I therefore grant you the right, when all is peaceful again, to keep him as a concubine and consort. I exhort you to disallow him from penetrating you — the essence of a savage such as he must never be permitted to soil your heavenly body.” Wonwoo’s hands tighten, crinkling the paper slightly. “I am certain that he is most amusing to you, and thus I give you him as a gift and trophy of war.”

 

“I await with joy the day I may see you again, my dearest son.

 

“Yours lovingly,

 

“Taewang Lee, etc.”

 

Wonwoo throws the scroll to the ground, scowling. It falls in a graceless tangle, and Seokmin somehow pales further.

 

“This is war,” Wonwoo declares, his voice bitter. “The Blood Emperor has broken his word.”

 

“We will not reply,” Soonyoung manages, standing. “And the knowledge of this message will not leave this room. As your king, I swear every one of you to silence!”

 

Seokmin is sobbing quietly, and Soonyoung climbs into their bed, wrapping himself comfortingly around his husband. “I will never allow your father anywhere near you,” he promises, running his hands through Seokmin’s hair. “I swear on my life, I will never let him hurt you again.”

 

Kihyun, the doctor, clears his throat. “King Dokyeom requires rest,” he says, his voice stern. “Your majesty, I ask that you remain in bed for the rest of the day. I will send a medicinal tea, and I ask that he be kept from stress.” His eyes cut to Jeonghan, who is trembling like a leaf in the wind. “All manner of stress. I believe it will be best for his overall health if we do not allow any reminder of his father or previous homeland in the sickroom.”

 

“You — you cannot keep me from his side,” Jeonghan protests weakly. “He is my charge, I was ordered to look after him —”

 

“I can and will,” Kihyun cuts him off firmly. “His attendants of the Clans are perfectly capable, my lord, and his husband will do enough hovering and fretting for the both of you. You are dismissed.”

 

“Lord doctor,” Chan starts, shifting on his feet with a quiet clanking of plate armor. “I would like permission to stand guard over my king’s chamber.” He swallows hard when the doctor’s calm eyes turn on him, but he holds his head high, and Soonyoung can see the sincerity in the youth’s sharp eyes. “I have chosen my King over the Empire,” he says, loud and firm. “I will stand with King Seokmin and peace rather than the Emperor’s wars.”

 

The doctor arches one eyebrow and turns to Soonyoung. “Well, Your Majesty?”

 

Soonyoung looks the young knight over — he can’t be more than nineteen, this boy, and yet he holds himself like a seasoned veteran, medals glittering from his chest.

 

Evidently taking Soonyoung’s silence for hesitation, Chan drops to one knee, bowing his head in what is surely a display of loyalty in the empire.

 

“Your Majesty,” he declares, “I pledge myself fully to your service and the service of your Clan, so long as you work toward peace. I swear by my own blood that both off the battlefield and on it, I will ever serve your cause. My oath given, my life is yours.”

 

Soonyoung smiles slightly, something like fondness swelling in his chest. This is a vivacious young man, ready to defend his principles, even if that means betraying his previous masters, and Soonyoung can see himself in that.

 

“Rise, Chan,” he says, injecting as much regality as he can into his voice. “I accept your oath.” His smile going lopsided, he turns back to Seokmin. “Would you like him to stand guard, my heart?”

 

“Please,” Seokmin says weakly, and Chan hurries to rise, clattering away to post himself outside the door.

 

The rest of the group filters out slowly, leaving Soonyoung and Seokmin alone with the doctor.

 

“Your Majesties,” Kihyun says, voice low. “I cannot be certain, but I would advise that King Dokyeom keep himself from much strenuous activity outside of what is necessary for the next few months. When did you last lay with each other, Your Majesty?”

 

“Only once,” Soonyoung says, dread making his gut churn. Seokmin pales, draping a hand over his eyes in fear. “On our wedding night, near three fortnights past.” It had been brief, too, and Soonyoung had been thorough in cleaning Seokmin afterward — surely he could not conceive from the first time he had lain with a man?

 

“Begging pardon,” Kihyun says, his gaze focused, “but it may be wise to do so again. There are elements in some spells used in the Empire to bind their marriages that cause illness and upset if intercourse is delayed, or in extreme cases, if conception does not occur. It is infrequent,” he hurries to add, “and often unintentional. However, I would advise re-consummating your bond; Seokmin’s may be one of the more extreme cases I spoke of.”

 

His part said, Kihyun bows and departs, trailing his stark white and black doctor’s robes behind him.

 

“Oh, Seokmin,” Soonyoung breathes, tracing his husband’s knuckles. “What are we to do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe,,,,, I live for the reactions to that last chapter tbh
> 
> —
> 
> hey, while im working on this (it's definitely my focus, but it's very involved and tiring to write) would you like to see some of my other fics? I have a hospital au (ships undecided), ancient egypt au (soohao, wonhui, and soonchansol), a pirate fic (jigyu), and a howl's moving castle au (haokwan) in the works, so let me know if you'd like to see any of those maybe??? love u, thanks for the support aaaaa


	15. XV: Seokmin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for some,,,,,,,, overly wordy smut. buckle up.

Some nights later, after a mundane ceremony blessing the clan’s livestock, Soonyoung approaches Seokmin with a determined expression.

 

“Seokmin,” he says gently, kneeling on the ground before Seokmin’s chair and reaching out to grasp his hand. Colour is high in his cheeks, and the moonlight covers him in silver. “My heart, listen to me.”

 

Seokmin can only nod, confused. He’s still not fully recovered from the illness, and the Korial clan elders have not been kind to him or Soonyoung.

 

Soonyoung appears to brace himself, holding Seokmin’s hand tightly. “I am willing to act on Doctor Kihyun’s instructions,” he says in a rush of air, his face flushing darker. “But only if you are; I don’t want to cause you pain.”

 

Seokmin’s heart sinks, but he nods and stands up. “I have not cleaned myself,” he begins, but Soonyoung’s hand on his lips silences him.

 

“No worries, my heart,” Soonyoung whispers. He leads Seokmin to the bed and has him lie down with his head propped up against the pillows, gently disrobing him, then retreats somewhat to undo the sash of his own robe. “Stay still. I will take care of you.”

 

Seokmin can only watch, entranced and confused, as Soonyoung disrobes. Surely his husband intends to… lie with him, but he refuses to let Seokmin clean himself, and has not made a move to breach Seokmin’s entrance at all. 

 

Seokmin is left breathless with anticipation, fixated on Soonyoung’s unhurried movements.

 

White silk slides from Soonyoung’s moon-silvered skin, and he shudders in the rush of cold. Fully naked, he clambers over Seokmin, and with a hesitant movement, lowers his hips to grind against Seokmin’s naked groin.

 

Seokmin holds back a gasp, his hands curling into fists in the bedsheets. Soonyoung is still soft, but as he continues to grind against Seokmin, his hands planted on Seokmin’s chest, his length is stiffening before Seokmin’s eyes.

 

“I promised,” Soonyoung murmurs, breaking the spell of silence, “that I would never force you to bear a child.” He allows one hand to dance over Seokmin’s chest, and Seokmin has to grit his teeth, arching his head back. He shouldn’t touch his husband, he knows, this shouldn’t be about his own pleasure, but Soonyoung’s hand feels like heaven as he pauses, circles a fingertip around Seokmin’s nipple before rolling the nub between finger and thumb, sending jolts of pleasure through Seokmin’s body. Soonyoung’s gentle touch makes him feel treasured, like a delicate porcelain vase.

 

“I promised,” Soonyoung continues. “Seokmin, my heart, I promised to myself and the gods that I would never do that to you.” His head dips, long hair falling over his shoulders, and he bends down to trail wet kisses along the length of Seokmin’s neck.

 

Seokmin can’t hold back; he moans low and quiet in the back of his throat as Soonyoung’s mouth covers his pulse point and pauses there, grazing the skin with his teeth. Vaguely, he registers that heat is pooling in his groin, tight and unfamiliar.

 

“Oh,” he gasps out when Soonyoung’s fingers find his nipple again and  _ pinch _ , sending a shock of pleasure through his body.

 

“I’d never cause you that pain, force you to take that responsibility… so let me,” Soonyoung whispers, and Seokmin doesn’t register what that means until Soonyoung’s warmth has vanished and he’s left gasping, struggling to lift his head to search for Soonyoung.

 

The sight that greets him sends cold dread dripping down his spine, and his embarrassing hardness wilts; Soonyoung has the familiar oil pot in his hand and is withdrawing two fingers, dripping with slick.

 

Hesitantly, Seokmin lifts his knees, bracing against the bed to allow Soonyoung access.

 

Instead, Soonyoung closes his eyes, setting the pot aside, and slides a finger into his own entrance with a drawn-out gasp of — pleasure?

 

“Gods,” Soonyoung whimpers brokenly, his first finger sunken into himself to the knuckle. “A-ah,  _ Seokmin… _ ”

 

The heat in Seokmin’s body flares brighter as he watches, transfixed. Soonyoung’s one finger becomes two as he opens himself up with quiet whimpers and groans. The lean muscles of his arm are visibly straining with the effort, and his stomach flexes with every movement, his thighs trembling. The sight is…  _ enchanting _ . Seokmin can feel himself stiffening from just watching, hot blood pooling in his hips.

 

“I’ve been… been thinking about this for ages,” Soonyoung confesses, his breathing labored. “Y-your cock, filling me up, making me feel so  _ good…” _ He lets out a breathless laugh, pressing a third finger against his hole. “Like to take you apart some day, make you feel as good as this feels for me…”

 

_ You already do, _ Seokmin aches to say, but his jaw hangs slack with awe, and his lips refuse to form the words.

 

At long last, Soonyoung withdraws his fingers and lets his head fall forward, panting, and grasps Seokmin’s erect cock, working his slick hand over the length.

 

Nothing,  _ nothing _ can compare to Soonyoung’s face as he lines up and slowly sinks down on Seokmin’s length, his head thrown back in what looks like ecstasy as their bodies meet, Seokmin’s hips flush against Soonyoung’s thighs, Soonyoung’s cracked moan of utter pleasure as he seats himself firmly on Seokmin’s cock.

 

Tight, wet heat engulfs Seokmin, and he has to close his eyes against the feeling. Even their wedding night can’t compare to this, nothing he’s ever felt is like the sensation of Soonyoung’s body clenching tight around Seokmin’s length.

 

“ _ Gods _ , Seokmin,” Soonyoung breathes, and Seokmin cracks his eyes open to see his neck glimmering with sweat and a deep flush reaching down to his chest. “You — you feel so good inside me, my heart, so  _ big —” _

 

Seokmin can’t help the moan that escapes him at that, his hands itching to grasp Soonyoung’s hips and make him do  _ something _ , anything to end this sweet torment, Soonyoung’s rim fluttering around the base of his shaft and his trembling body sending thrills through Seokmin’s whole being.

 

Soonyoung rolls his hips, and Seokmin’s back arches with lightning crackling through his body, shocks rippling up and down his spine. That grants him a loud moan from Soonyoung, who grasps weakly at Seokmin’s chest and slumps over, breathing hard.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Seokmin sputters, curling his hands tighter in the blankets, hoping he won’t be reprimanded. “Felt — felt so good, and —”

 

“Gods, no, Seokmin, don’t be sorry. You’re doing  _ so _ well, my heart, your beautiful cock filling me up so well,” Soonyoung praises him instead, through heavy gasps for breath. He guides Seokmin’s hands away from the bed and places them on his hips, rolling them in subtle movements; enough to send spikes of pleasure through Seokmin. “Don’t be afraid,  _ gods _ , you’re doing  _ so well _ .”

 

Swallowing hard, Seokmin dares hold on to Soonyoung as the shorter man  _ bounces _ , gasping with pleasure as Seokmin’s cock strikes the inside of his body. Tentatively, Seokmin squeezes harder, rolls his own hips upward as Soonyoung’s come down, and is rewarded with a loud keen and Soonyoung tossing his head back to gasp out another moan of  _ “again, Seokmin, please.” _

 

Soonyoung’s own cock is glistening wet and slapping against his stomach with every bounce of his hips, a wet sound that should be filthy but only serves to heighten Seokmin’s arousal.

 

Moonlight drenches them, and Seokmin cannot remember a time when he felt so good. His hands are splayed wide over Soonyoung’s hips, gripping hard enough that he’s afraid he’ll leave bruises, and he watches with breathless fascination as his cock slides in and out of Soonyoung.

 

Soonyoung’s whispered words of praise fill his ears, and for a moment, Seokmin forgets everything that has led to this moment, fixated on the feeling of Soonyoung’s body and the affection surging through both of them; his hands grasping the soft flesh of Soonyoung’s rear and the blazing heat of his cock inside Soonyoung are the only things that anchor him to reality any more.

 

When Seokmin climaxes, it takes him completely by surprise, his body going rigid as intense, overwhelming pleasure blazes through him. Soonyoung lets out a loud cry of his own and releases in the same breath, hunched over as he rolls his hips through their shared orgasm.

 

At last, Soonyoung lets Seokmin slide out of his body, toppling next to him on the bed with a pleased sigh.

 

His soft hand reaches out to cup Seokmin’s face, a beatific smile on his gentle features. “My heart,” he murmurs softly. “My only.” He rolls closer, tentatively brushes his nose against Seokmin’s. “My love.”

 

Warmth fills Seokmin’s belly, new but comforting, and he smiles as his eyes drift closed, bumping Soonyoung’s nose clumsily in an attempt to reciprocate the gesture.

 

He’s asleep before he can say anything more.

 

—

 

When he blinks his eyes open the next morning, Seokmin finds himself tangled helplessly in Soonyoung’s embrace, unable to tell where his limbs end and Soonyoung’s begin in the blurriness of sleep.

 

Soonyoung’s face is tucked into his shoulder, and his breath tickles Seokmin’s neck. His eyelids are fluttering in his sleep, soft eyelashes brushing Seokmin’s skin gently.

 

Seokmin allows a smile to creep across his face, daring to reach up and smooth his hand over Soonyoung’s hair. He remembers, vaguely, that Soonyoung always loved to comb through his hair in the morning, patting down flyaways; he understands it a little bit more, now.

 

Soonyoung snuffles quietly and nuzzles further into Seokmin, sighing with what sounds like content.

 

It’s late morning, Seokmin guesses, long past the time when they should be up and dealing with the headache of diplomacy, but for once, Seokmin feels warm and comfortable with Soonyoung in his arms, and unwilling to get up and paste on a smile for the clan elders.

 

The fatigue that’s been plaguing him is gone, he realizes suddenly. This sleep has left him refreshed for the first time in months, since before their wedding, even.

 

There’s a gentle knock on the door, and Jisoo steps in, holding a carved wood tray. His mouth drops open when he meets Seokmin’s eyes, and he tips his face toward the sky, closing his eyes.

 

“Thank the Gods you’re awake,” Jisoo whispers. “I thought — we thought you would die.” He places the tray on their bedside table and slides one hand under Seokmin’s back, easing him upright.

 

Seokmin’s stomach sinks, even as Jisoo helps him sit up without disturbing Soonyoung. “How long have I been asleep?” he asks, trying to keep the slightly hysterical note out of his voice.

 

“Six nights,” Jisoo says, looking entirely too happy. “Soonyoung has not left your side.” He circles the bed, shaking Soonyoung’s shoulder gently. “Soonyoung,” he whispers. “My king, wake up. Seokmin is awake.”

 

Soonyoung jerks awake, his eyes flying open. “Seokmin,” he croaks out.

 

Seokmin has to laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Here I am,” he manages between bursts of laughter. “I’m awake.”

 

Soonyoung scrambles upright, all but falling onto Seokmin in his haste to embrace him. “Seokmin,” he croaks again. “You — you scared me, my heart…”

 

Seokmin hiccups wetly, suddenly realizing that his eyes are filled with tears. “I didn’t mean to,” he says lamely, wrapping his arms around Soonyoung. Someone dressed him in the past six days, in soft blue sleep clothes he’s never seen before, embroidered with gold.

 

Jisoo moves the tray to the bed, smiling fondly. “Well, if this is what happens  _ every _ time His Majesty deigns to have you top, as the cruder of us would say, I would urge you to keep that to a minimum,” he says, making both Soonyoung and Seokmin sputter indignantly. “I will be informing the doctor that you have awoken,” he continues blithely. “Please, eat; I’ll have Taekwoon bring a tray for you, Soonyoung.”

 

Soonyoung nods, but Seokmin gets the distinct impression that he had stopped listening, choosing to gaze lovingly at him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof
> 
> ok so if u all want some bonus fic content + random art and fic recs, please zoom on over to my twitter https://twitter.com/lunar_ren !!!! love u!!!


	16. XVI: Soonyoung

The six nights Seokmin had spent in sleep had been the longest of Soonyoung’s life, even longer than the nights leading up to their wedding.

 

Doctor Kihyun tells them that Seokmin is fine, advises him to refrain from exerting himself with a knowing twinkle in his eye, but Soonyoung can’t bring himself to leave Seokmin’s side, even after his husband is awake and starting to walk around.

 

“Should Seokmin not be the one coddling you?” the Elder’s grandson, Changkyun, asks blithely one day over a game of  _ janggi _ . Soonyoung has Seokmin plastered against his side as they play sitting on the floor, and had been feeding him small sips of wine and morsels of food. “You, after all, are the one who is likely to be with child.”

 

Seokmin stiffens against Soonyoung, and Soonyoung digs his thumb into the knot of tension in Seokmin’s waist, smoothing it out. “I am making up a deficit,” he says, sliding a token across the board. “I believe that’s my win, again.” In the corner of the room, Seokmin’s main attendant, Minghao, smothers a giggle. 

 

Changkyun shrugs, sweeping his remaining tokens away. He’s the one noble of high position in this clan Soonyoung feels he can trust, cruel as that may seem. Changkyun, Soonyoung’s own age and as blunt and sharp as winter frost, will make an excellent ally one day.

 

“If you say so, Your Majesty,” he says.  “Another game, or are you tired of pounding me into the carpet?”

 

Soonyoung stretches, letting out a long sigh. “I have a meeting with the Elder to attend,” he says reluctantly. “He… is not happy with recent events.”

 

“You mean, my grandfather is pissed that he hasn’t been able to bully your husband into terrified submission?” Changkyun asks plainly. Seokmin lets out a squeal of embarrassment, shoving his face into Soonyoung’s shoulder, and Changkyun laughs out loud. “Don’t bother, Your Majesty. Frankly…” He takes a long sip of his wine, rearranging the lapis lazuli and silver tokens on the board. “Frankly, I am meant to be intimidating you right now. Grandfather thinks the two of you are degenerate and weak, and that we ought to be marching on the empire right now. I think that’s horseshit — begging your pardon, King Dokyeom — there’s no way we can go on the offensive with the Empire just yet.”

 

Soonyoung allows himself a heavy sigh, full of contempt. “Of course,” he grumbles. “Changkyun, I will entrust you with Seokmin until I am finished with my meeting. I would like to limit his time with your grandfather as much as possible.”

 

Changkyun barks out a laugh. “And I don’t blame you,” he says. “Go. I’ll teach Seokmin janggi while you’re gone.”

 

Soonyoung hauls himself up, stooping to kiss the top of Seokmin’s head. “Be good,” he murmurs. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

 

Seokmin smiles, turning that glowing face on Soonyoung. “Mm. I’ll be fine,” he assures him. “Go. Do your duty.”

 

Jisoo is waiting on the other side of the door, dressed in his ceremonial Speaker’s robes. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” he says. His knuckles are white around the grip of his staff, and his face is drawn tight.

 

“What’s wrong?” Soonyoung asks, taking Jisoo’s elbow as they head toward the meeting hall. He hasn’t seen Jisoo like this since the worst days of the War, when everyone had been sure they were fighting a doomed battle.

 

Now, he wonders if they were right.

 

“The Elder has brought his military commander to the meeting,” Jisoo murmurs, quiet enough that no passerby could hear. “It does not bode well. He will not directly oppose you — but be ready. He will not be kind.”

 

Soonyoung stops dead in his tracks.

 

“Majesty?” Jisoo asks, turning to face him.

 

“We are leaving,” Soonyoung chokes out. “Fetch Taekwoon — tell everyone of our party. I will not negotiate with a war-crazed man!” He whirls around, turning back to where he left Seokmin and Changkyun.

 

He slams the door open by accident, and Seokmin knocks over the janggi board in surprise.

 

“We are leaving,” Soonyoung repeats, his voice shaking with rage. “My apologies, Changkyun — I will not be able to continue our tournament.”

 

Changkyun is the first to recover, standing up. “What happened?” he asks, and he sounds enraged. “What has my ass of a grandfather done now?”

 

“Changkyun,” Soonyoung says firmly instead of answering, placing his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Make sure we are not followed. The Elder wants nothing but war — I will not allow that while I am king. Do you understand?”

 

Changkyun nods solemnly, reaching up to cover Soonyoung’s hands with his own. “As my King wishes,” he says. He squeezes Soonyoung’s hands once, unafraid to make eye contact. “Do try to stay alive — I would like to finish our janggi tournament someday.”

 

Seokmin remains silent until they reach their chamber, where Soonyoung shucks his day robes, reaching for more efficient travel clothes.

 

“Soonyoung,” he says, so quietly that Soonyoung nearly doesn’t hear him. “What is going on? Everything seemed fine… what changed?” His face is nearly white when Soonyoung turns to meet his eyes — he looks physically ill again, leaning heavily on the post of their bed.

 

Soonyoung pauses, halfway done tying the sash of his travel robe. A brief war rages in his head — whether to tell Seokmin and risk making him ill from fear again, or keep him in the dark and risk losing trust?

 

The dream he had before their bonding ceremony in the centre of the Lake swims to the forefront of his mind; Seokmin standing in the ruins, bloodied, beaten, burned, about to cut his own throat —

 

“Don’t fear,” Soonyoung manages. Gods in the Heavens — such a vision must never come to pass. His bluestone amulet burns where it rests against his breastbone, and he presses one hand to it surreptitiously as he fastens his robes. “No harm will come to you.”

 

No secrets, no secrets, no secrets. The words repeat endlessly, as if taunting Soonyoung. He wonders if his vow to keep Seokmin safe eclipses that promise — if keeping secrets is the only we he can keep his husband away from the horror of war.

 

It’s been a mere few months since that day in the centre of the Plains where he laid eyes on Seokmin for the first time, when he laid awake wondering if he and his future husband would be able to stand each other, much less lead a country reeling from a war that lasted for more than four generations.

 

A mere few months since he laid eyes on the new centre of his world.

 

“Don’t fear,” he repeats, and wraps his arms around Seokmin, burying his face into his husband’s shoulder. “I won’t let any harm come to you, now or ever.”

 

Seokmin reciprocates slowly, resting his hands lightly on Soonyoung’s back. “I believe you,” he replies. “I believe you, I just... “ He takes a shuddering breath — Soonyoung can feel his chest rise and fall and hear the rapid beating of his heart. “I wish you would tell me when things go wrong.”

 

—

 

They leave less than an hour later, much to the chagrin of the Council. Their next destination was more than understanding when Jisoo contacted them through a scrying lens, and there is not much the Council can do to stop them.

 

Seokmin won’t look at Soonyoung, choosing instead to fiddle with the hem of his robes, or stare out the window in silence. Unable to take the silence any longer, Soonyoung tumbles out of the carriage when they stop for the night and runs, only halting when the noise of making camp goes silent.

 

He finds himself next to a river, where water tumbles over an outcropping of rock in a small waterfall before flowing peacefully on. The setting sun glints on the water, turning it gold, and for a moment, everything turns peaceful.

 

Soonyoung takes in a heavy breath and pulls off his shoes, dipping his feet in the river. The water is icy cold, a hint of the autumn that is already creeping up on them. Has it already been so long since the summer solstice? Time seems to have gone too fast.

 

Soonyoung bitterly hopes that they do not have to fight through another winter.

 

He pulls his king’s seal from his robes, turning it over in his hands. Two four-clawed dragons circle the edges of the seal, touching noses over the point of a star, set on a solar disc half eclipsed by the moon; it looks the same as it always has. The same as it looked when Soonyoung’s father pressed it against melted wax to seal military orders; the same as it looked when the late king pressed it into Soonyoung’s pudgy child’s hands, death rattling in his lungs; the same as it looked when, sixteen years old, Soonyoung burned it into the gatepost of the first Imperial village he razed.

 

The same as it looked when Soonyoung used it to seal his engagement to Seokmin.

 

_ The left dragon represents death _ , Jisoo had told him once, sitting on the roof of the palace. The Speaker had only been fourteen, and Soonyoung thirteen, but Jisoo was nearly about to depart for his final five years of study in the monasteries of the Plains.  _ And the right dragon represents life. It’s an endless cycle that the King has to balance, making sure to dole out mercy and justice in equal measure, and that is why both are represented as equal in importance, eternally circling the moon, the stars, and the sun. That’s what Master says, anyway. _

 

Soonyoung weighs the seal in his hands, smiling wryly, and looks up at the sky. Far too much death has come because of this seal, in recent years, and with every day that passes, it begins to look more like he will be forced to use it to order death again.

 

He tucks it back into the breast of his robes, fighting the sudden urge to throw it into the river. 

 

The setting sun dyes the sky pink, like the flush of Seokmin’s cheeks.

 

—

 

Jisoo is waiting by the fire when Soonyoung finally makes his way back to camp, sitting with his legs folded up and his eyes closed in meditation. Soonyoung sits next to him, tipping his head back to look at the sky.

 

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” Jisoo says calmly. “I hope you found clarity.”

 

“I didn’t tell Seokmin why we left,” Soonyoung confesses, his ears burning with shame. “I… Some months ago, I dreamed of him dying in war. I thought it was wedding nerves, and dismissed it as such, but… I am afraid. With the news from the Empire, and the Elder of the Korial clan so eager to return to war…” He takes a steadying breath and frustratedly wipes at the tears building up in his eyes. “Gods, Jisoo, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose him, but I won’t be able to protect him if I fall with child, and our position is tenuous at best until we produce an heir, but I don’t want him to have to carry that burden.”

 

Jisoo takes all of this in with a placid expression, his dark eyes twinkling like the night sky. Soonyoung waits, struck by the familiarity of this situation; the two of them have had many such conversations — on palace rooftops, in darkened tents in war camps, and everywhere in between.

 

“The only advice I can give you is to talk,” Jisoo says at length. “You are not solely responsible for the health of your marriage, my king. Seokmin’s input is invaluable as well, and you may require the aid of his friends. A marriage…” He sighs, turning his face to the sky. “Soonyoung, you are so used to shouldering every single burden placed in your path that you are unable to accept help when it is offered. It is, perhaps, your only flaw.”

 

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose, baffled. “But,” he protests weakly, “I only want to help. I — Seokmin is so soft and gentle, and everyone says I should protect him.”

 

“Does  _ everyone _ ?” Jisoo muses. “Or is that the opinion of a childhood friend raised in an intolerant Empire and promised Seokmin’s hand his whole life?” He smiles softly. “Jeonghan is a very kind man, and very smart. But he is grieving, and has only seen Seokmin under the thumb of a land that believes their king’s consorts are somehow less, and that Carriers ought not to take thrones or power.”

 

Jisoo touches the bluestone amulet over Soonyoung’s heart, despite being unable to see it. “Do you know what the dragons on your seal represent?”

 

“Life and death,” Soonyoung recites. “You told me nine years ago.”

 

Jisoo nods, and a half smile tugs at his mouth. “Yes, but they also represent the balance between you and your consort. Both of you must work together to defend the clans, represented by the sun, moon, and stars of your crest, and you cannot do that without communicating.” He withdraws his hand and closes his eyes, tilting his head back to let moonlight wash over his face. “Do what you feel is right, my king, but never forget that you are now one part of a whole.”

 

Soonyoung nods, even though Jisoo cannot see him. “Thank you,” he manages.

 

The royal tent is pitched near the centre of camp; one lantern inside is lit, and he can see Seokmin’s silhouette through the canvas, sitting on a low cushion as another figure brushes out his long hair.

 

Soonyoung steels himself and enters.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnnd the first Big Bump in seoksoon's relationship. oops,,
> 
> soonie's a good boy who just wants to help his husband, dammit!! he doesn't know how to deal with all this!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my very first post on ao3, and I’m a lil nervous lmao,,,,,, please let me know what you think!!! love ya <3


End file.
